chaiNboli

 Season after season I sit on my cot, frowning at my wasteful life  a lazy melancholy in my brown eyes,   so careful that I hold a scythe to kill the devil who tries to rob me. I am a pack of bones wrapped in a brown paper designed with hair follicles, waiting to be placed in a coffin , a useless gift for him_  him with a capital H. Under the moon I stand  studying the delicate pattern of Van Gogh's ear my grief weighting me like the wings of Icarus. For me grief is a habit passed down like a folk song into my hungry palms to be uncoiled in silence of a bleeding sunset . It is the green mollusca growing in my spine kissing my neural system, cancerous spreading to every corner of my onion thin cells. It is the misty air trapped inside spongy lungs of mine like an illicit child in a lover's womb. It is an unsung lullaby to my favorite cat mutilated by some stranger in the street,  it's head boiled in my luke warm love. It is a poison mushroom I feed myse...

 I am some one loves too hard that my best friend calls me "little dumb redhood" but she doesn't know the air crushed inside my lungs is a privilege. I have fed my love to a certain bastard, and wiped his mouth with the sleeves of my favorite dress.  I have kept the dog collar he gifted under my pillow, neatly and digged the brown soil with a metal tooth to camouflage a bleeding womb. I have hidden my name under the flower pot, my ink spilled for a wild flower  it's leaves dark as night,  the golden thorns scooping raw flesh of my papaya heart. Blood blooming in my mouth, small crimson flowers while he turns all my golden chains to straw, a saddist magician. And when night comes you shred his skin cells, a white serpent with lollipop eyes, and become a mere man who puts his head in my ribs,  crushed and tattered with secrets I can't  tell you. Drawing circles on my hand his pangs on my cleavage while the last iota of resistance drowning in abyss of pain. He...

 Wearing a veil of amnesia my grandmother wakes every night from her rosewood cot and examines my throat,tells me not to utter a single word and places a sugar cube in my naive tongue.  Like a good daughter I smile and thank her and call her 'Nani' when she returns to a blue blurry silent zone and asks me who I am. I tell her am a profound cell, so small but with so much inside me. I am the burnt mole on mother's wrist an unlucky charm she hides under a leather strap of her favourite watch. I am the rolled tobacco resting on my father's bottom lip, soon to be ash without a proper burial. I am a broken crayon in my brothers school box melted,ignored and lost interest in. Iam my lover's old poetry, written, read and re read then locked in the bottom drawer of cupboard,forgotten. I am the adamptant breath inside an eighty year old's rugged lungs, dancing to an orchestra of denial.  Iam an old scarf picked from the streets,  much loved that washed, hung and ironed, ...

 Sadness tip toeing around my nights  in its black kefta,  hair embellished with red blood clips while I try to find solace in a dog eared book I stole from my dead grand mother's shelf. the sixth cigar in ten minutes it's ashes on my cleavage bright grey, merging effortlessly with my  skin. His creamy little face I pinned  in the west of my memory, aching,  my mouth tastes copper. Pain,an exotic jelly fish in the black it's unholy teeth piercing the third cell of  my cerebrum ,chopping the last ion of  his silk smooth voice.  the narrow street of hope owls singing "everything will be fine" moths blocking the way, I stand before Lethe.  in stillness I drown pebbles in my pocket  never intending to speak another word,  the bone of my tongue heavy with spit.  A cry blooms , rotten and helpless  but fails to move  as I put down a rolled carpet  inside my crushed wind pipe.  Hidden in the rosebush a white s...

  I have loved him for twenty one days, staying carefully in the igloos of sanity, Ignoring small chaos blooming in my head with suffocating memories. On the twenty second day he takes me to a café, with a name I misspell always, A bramble rose growing on its walls, out of place yet beautiful. Silent waves between our hands, he looks at me with Kindness oozing from the burrow on the face, a tarnished smile. His heart is so white, whiter than the lace of my skirt, Just like a paper before a sad, heartbroken poem- I know. He thinks he can mend me, but holy fuck, he is a man He is just a man; he is just another man. I see the future grinning like a mouse when he kneels with a ring, And I want to cry, howl like a dog and say all the ugly truths. But am a Houdini, quick and clean who says yes, a slender smile on lips, Because this is how it works.

  At the end of doomed attempts of conversations, He showed me a photo, square and clean. He told me that he loves her, and they have A lot in common, like religion and music taste. This new girl is born in the same city as me, I am sure, because she too has the same birth mark in her face- sadness concealed with smile. That afternoon in my bathroom I got down on my knees and cried. Five days after that I tried to write Something like a poem, titled “to the man I loved” where I lied about him. I wrote he had stars in his tongue, flowers in fingers And an ocean in the left of his ribcage. I called him Adonis with sugar in veins. The more I wrote about him the more He stood outside them, staring in disbelief. In my sleep I cut him into two pieces, In my dreams he was still kissing me. I painted my long nails in black and the dog-eared notebooks with words and tears. I never uttered a word about the pain he gave, the sickness that poured whe...

  Mother, Let me hang my small pink mouth to your left breast, foolishly hungry. Let me stay unmoved in your fondles, hollow lap of magnificent disappointment. Let me have a place a place in the empty cave of your gut, mother, So that I can hide because its too loud here.   Crowded by the memories my brain is sweating All my fears dance under the pale kitchen light, An infamous yet grotesque opera. Verses pregnant with naked passion drawing Hypothesis in the crossroads, red and blue. The clammy sunshine henna on doorsteps, The soul of a dead sparrow seeping into my veins. I put my anger in refrigerator, careful, And my teeth in the washing machine “whiter, whiter” I chant. The sorrows are the tail of a lizard, Shed only to be grown, stronger and darker again. And happiness a crossword puzzle in neon letters, A sweet spoon of crystal sugar at the bottom of bleak coffee. In silence my tongue rolls into memorized prayers, I stand, a mannequin, stabbing her own raw...