Undone

Come undone for me
Don’t tell me that you sing
sing me your loudest secrets
your softest pieces

Come undone for me
Don’t tell me that you dance
dance me your stories
dance them one by one

Come undone for me
Don’t tell me that you paint
paint me your mind’s sunrise
and your heart’s sunset

Come undone for me
Don’t tell me that you cook
cook me your fondest memories
your mother’s best, your father’s first

Come undone for me
Don’t tell me that you think
tell me things that make me think
tell me riddles, put my mind in a maze

Come undone for me
Don’t tell me that you sin
Rid me of my qualms
Rip me apart and sway me

Come undone for me
as I undo
the threads
of my soul

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Consalita

Amma
I wish I was there
to hold your hand
when you were younger
crossing streets
with your eyes closed.

Amma
I wish I knew
the words to tell you
you are everything
my sunshine and my storm
my strength and my weakness
my love and my fear

Amma
Do you know
I love your name
Consalita
To console
but none
consoled you

Amma
You cut off your wings
So I could have them
No happiness without gratitude
No achievement without perseverance
No knowledge without humility
No me without you

Amma
Yes mama, I pray
to Mother Mary
Mathave rekshikenney
Like you taught me to
she’ll save me
as she saved you

Amma
for what it’s worth
let me repay
your time, your love
your grace, your health
let me put you
on a pedestal
let me console you
Consalita

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Saudade

When I return

will I yearn

for that which you said

I’ll never feel again

Will I long

for the pauses

between each breath

the lanes between each junction

Will I desire

the sound of sunshine

the scent of the city

the touch of your warmth

Will I want

what you said we could have

what we could have been

what we were not

but should be

Will I want me

if I return

and be

another me?

Lipstick red

 

 

 

 

 

Postcard from the Moon

Send me postcards

from moon craters

and hollow spaces.

Send me seashells

burned by the sun

touched by your dark.

Send me roses

from the garden of Eden

cursed by the heathen.

Send me letters

written out of love

signed by another.

Send me a ticket

to leave this despair

to leave their care.

Send me the fare

of that ticket.

Send me

the moon

I’m already in the craters

I only know hollow spaces.

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Balloon Seller

Barely five

Spunk, fifteen

and the wit, fifty

The balloons he carries

bobbing on the ends of sticks

like his head

on the pike carved by poverty

he manages to keep it upright

but they push him down

seldom bullied

but ignored

not worth the effort

lowest of the low

a mere fruit fly

in a world of leeches

craving better blood.

 

His father showed him

everything he shouldn’t be

but he became anyway

the cycle destined to repeat

forever set on a loop

the rich get richer

the rest get wearier.

 

And once more he chants

“bhaiyya, le lo na ek”

“behen, oh behen, de do na kuch”

and once more he sees

how they unsee him

and one last time

he disappears

into the river

his balloons bobbing

in the water

but his head

nowhere to be seen.

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