Waiting for Poetry

I wait for you in the cold dark night
Hoping that you’d lead me into your light
That you’d warm me with your embrace
And wrap me with your grace.

I wait for you at dawn
Stifling each big yawn
Hoping you’d ride with me
Deep into the blue wide sea

I wait for you at dusk
Not caving into my lust
Hoping that we’re meant to be
Hoping my dreams are not deceiving me

I wait for you by the lake
Knowing that our future isn’t blake
He tells me to just let go
But I can’t help but hope for more.

I wait for you on a hilltop green
And you are nothing like anything
As I put my pen on paper and let you wash over me like rain
And you flow like the very blood in my veins

Inspired by what Jerry Pinto said about Nissim Ezekiel said about poetry bring like a ‘patient love relaxing on a hill

Stay

You waltz in
Unannounced
Take my breath away
And leave
Without ceremony.

I do not think of you
For the next ten years
Except once or twice in my dreams
And morning after as I wonder
Where you are and what have you become

I sit alone
At a bar
Tired
Of work, of life
You ask me
If the seat is taken
Old friend
Our flame is a kindle
Akin to our desire.

I fall again,
Between white sheets
And Friday Night Sundaes
Burnt Toast mornings
With black coffee
And hot chocolate Wednesday Afternoons
And this time, you stay.

The Cluttered Cupboard

Her mind was a cluttered cupboard
There were shelves upon shelves of clothes
And some smelly socks
And some important paperwork

On the top were the party clothes
Most of them have sequins on them
She rarely used those little black dresses
But when she did, it was a riot.
Men buzzed around her like flies on a lemon popsickle
That her friends had to squat away
She wore red lipstick with them
So that they hide the scars inside her beautiful, fuckable skin.

The second shelf had work clothes
Tight fitting (tailor fitted)
50 shades of black, white, and beige
Her bosses loved licking their lips around her
And she loved flirting with them
Knowing they fucked her in their heads
Even her female bosses.
But work clothes need to make a woman uncomfortable, no?
How else will you sexualize a woman smarter than you?
How else will you explain why that hot chick got the promotion over you?
Her work clothes made her uncomfortable, but they got the work done.

The next was a drawer of underwear.
Most of them basic
But a couple of them kinky
Just when her boys and her fuck buddies want to be teased
Sent nudes
She loved having them, knowing she was in control
She could edge you with those
Before letting herself go.

The more accessible layer was jeans and tees and tunics
Sweatshirts, sweatpants, shorts
For her friends and her boyfriends
She wore them for casual strolls in parks
Where she wore nothing but her damn self
Comfortable, leisurely, smiling.

Her cupboard was cluttered, though
She forgot what was for what
Sequined black dress for semi formal?
Brunch with friends?
Casual fridays at work?
Could you wear sweatpants for Casual Friday?
Her mind was a cluttered cupboard
That she didn’t know how to clean.

I will tell my children about you

I will warn my children about you.
The kinds that give you all,
But then take it away
Faster than you know it’s yours.

I will warn my children about you.
About the dozen promises
That both of us made,
And broke in the blink of an eye.

I will warn my children about you.
About us, at fifty, with a cigar
In our hands, and whiskey on the table
Sitting on the cliff talking about life.

I will tell my children about you.
The godcousins they never had
The dogs they didn’t befriend
The friends they never knew.

I will tell my children about you.
The plans of gatecrashing your vacation
To end life, because you don’t want to treat your cancer
And the waffles I never got to bring you.

I will tell my children about you.
About friendships that may not last forever
Even though you both try
Even though you both love.

I will tell my children about you.
About promises they want to keep
But cannot, because of their fears
And the anxieties that cripple them.

I will tell my children about you.
About growing up with you.
About how just because something ended
Doesn’t mean it was not worth it.

Your demons

I’ve seen your demons
When I close my eyes
Crawling at your skin
I see them eating you away.

I’ve seen you look at them
Every time I look at you
Like they’re your angels
You’re praying for redemption

But they fail to quiet your demons
Every time you look at me
No matter how tight you hold them
Your swan song falls through

Maybe he won’t touch you.

What I tell myself everyday, as I walk past all the places I’ve been assaulted:
Maybe he won’t touch you.

Breathe In. Breathe Out.
They’re not here to assault you.
They’re walking past you.
They’re just walking past you.
Phew!

Oops, there it is.’Ay, Baby!’
You pick up your pace
As the little courage you have
Shatters and smears across the ground.

‘Come on. Just one time.’
You put your arms across your breasts
As if your soft hands will hide them
From their predatory eyes.

You curse yourself for walking alone
On a night, dressed in your skirt,
And your red, red lipstick
And taking a shortcut.
You should have known.

You cross the alley
And reach a lit road
And you heave in relief
Because they can’t hurt you now.
Can they?

You are just one of the thousands
They want against their body
They forget you, don’t they?
You’re just a body they want to own
A story they want to tell their buddies
Over beer and hand rolled cheap ciggarattes

But you remember the pain, the embarassment,
The shame, the guilt.
You wash your hands with soap a hundred times
Because that man kissed you on the palm of your hand
A hundred times, on the porch swing, when you were six.
And you stop wearing your favourite colour,
Because that man tweaked your nipple
And winked at you, with a smile.
And you accidentally burnt your favourite jeans
Because that man rubbed himself against you
On the public transport you have to take every day to work.

You take detours
And panic when your male friend hugs you
You walk a little away from the crowd
A little behind everybody
Slow, but not too slow.
You walk with your bag in front of you
Hugging it, because that’s a couple more layers
Till they get to you.
You put your earphones on
So you can be in the illusion
Of being isolated in the crowd.

Breathe In. Breathe Out.
You might change the world one day.
You might stop being a woman.
You might die and get burned soon.
And your great grandchildren will hopefully never understand this poem.

Love’s End

People hate people like me
The ones that just stop loving you
How can you give someone the world
And then take it away?

A single flower, a single note
A single letter, a million pieces of the heart.
Two days, and the flower has withered away.
Oh, I see now why you prefered potted plants.

You don’t understand, honey
Work comes first, Friends come second
You don’t worry, sugar
We’ll have forever. This one is for now.

I hold you in my mouth like your promise
With the conviction of forever,
A tinge of languidness
You respond like it’s your duty.

People hate people like me
But shouldn’t they have seen
The ratatatuh before this train
Came to a sudden halt?

Shouldn’t they have expected me
To give up, at some point?
I don’t want to be clingy, needy
The butt of your every joke

People hate people like me
But they prefer sudden deaths
Like pulling the band-aid off at one go
Than the agonizing, pain of forever