used

scarlet cloth with soft fabric loops

that used to hug a face, lying

facedown in the center 

of the diner floor, vaguely indecent

like a tired brassiere

or a panhandler

intimate 

on the black-and-white linoleum 

just lying there

as i step over it

around it

trying to ignore it

on my way in and out

of the light.

I wanted my parents to love each other

I wanted to chance upon them
giggling among geraniums
or perhaps
kissing in the kitchen, like
in the movies with white-picket fences -
but our walls were Indian concrete.

I wished
they would fight, scream, anything
to release the pressure in our home
humid love with nowhere to go -
but they kept their lips sealed shut, and
the warmth was heavy 
on my shoulders.

I wanted to be more
than their child, to love
with an open mouth, but even now 
my hands are terrified 
of being caught red-handed 
with another's, and
my parents call me every night -
seated a me-shaped distance
away from each other.

parasite

We live in Jeff Bezos's apartment.
At first we asked him over to ours
on occasion, making polite conversation
through darkened windows.
But like a vampire needing
only one invitation
he moved into our living room.

This was mildly concerning, but
he was a good guest.
He sang to us
and we liked 
not having to
ever switch off the lights
though it was
slightly creepy the way he looked at us
through cerulean eyes while we slept,
often talking to himself
in the middle of the night.

He was lonely so we
brought him friends
and toys until
he gradually became our lives.
And one day we woke up to find
that it was his house; we merely
lived in it. 

Video calling my long-distance lover

To think that tonight

we are awash
in the magnetic radiation 
of love whispering wirelessly between
quarantined cities
at the speed of light.

We are not alone tonight.

We are waves of skin
endlessly churning
in an invisible ocean of emotion.
Enveloped in intimacy,
we inhale 
love letters. 

ink blots.

 the lack of a person
streams in like streetlight 
through barred windows

casting shifting
Rorschach shadows
on papery beds

redemption

oh, to be lost and then
to be found by netflix

no one succeeds like "early
investor in facebook", none
warm the heart and mesmerize
like prodigal prodigies

conscience is a parachute
activating only when

jumping off of vesting cliffs 

The subaltern only speaks in accents

there are many ways to create brown -

California sky-blue mixed 

with Princeton-orange, or 

vermillion mingling like tears

with dreams 

of green pastures

the arc of brown representation is long

but it refracts through a prism,

bends towards accent-less beige - 

the diaspora confuses 

its dais for a stage,

milk for honey

for some lucky ones are born American,

some achieve Americanness (dyeing passports),

but mostly we have America thrust upon us

through dinner screens that are still

only skinny mirrors; there are colors

and then there are colours

Blog Update

Hello, sorry for taking down pieces, I'm going to start publishing stuff here again. 

It was feeling like I was talking to a void, and the blog felt like an additional hassle to maintain. But people reached out saying that they missed this blog, which felt... good. 

Please consider commenting on the poems.

Woke

I'm so woke
I haven't slept in days. I stumble
like an insomniac
from argument to argument.

The Mechanics of Love

Going through old, cringey, unpublished drafts. I try not to write love poetry any more.

...

"Oh I'm not blaming myself for anything, don't you worry."

Love.
Also known as
the making of homes
in human beings.

"You weren't there."

You love the space you've carved
out of my chest, claimed it for yourself,
and used as fuel for your happiness. Taken:
A mirror. A valley of echoes. A stray
glistening word or calloused fingertip.

The mechanics of love.

And now she is strong. An
independent woman not needing
a man to love her, to remind her
of her inherent worthiness. And as for me:
there is no one to blame.

Jaisalmer Fort

Sussurating through the cirrus-ed sky,
Jostling merrily for
cerulean dominance
Jaisalmer terraces cheer kites
in the foreground of the Fort;

The delight of children drowned by
the scream of the
cream of the
Indian Air Force
Scissoring through the sound barrier.