PTA meeting

Sometimes I wish I could cry like them
They can cry fiercely
Nothing can stop them
From expressing their hearts out
How their eyes simply speaks
The simple truth
They are sad

I wish I could do that too

Her mum died years ago
All the mum’s from PTA meeting
Sparked the emptiness
Watered her cheeks
Ending up on my lap

I wanted to tell her the secret
Secret of my brother
How her mum, my brother
They aren’t dead
They are a different point of view now
Maybe a place
Or a sound wave
Some light waves stuck in dark sun
Interlining of our cosiest jacket
My anxiety pills in my bags
They are everywhere
And it’s complicated
I am complicated
Couldn’t find my brother in my cheeks
Simply like her in tears
I am not even sure if I am sad or happy
I must be the last person
She must look for
But here we go

But here we go
Without a mother
Without a brother
We go the way we can go



I can adjust a mosquito net
In a sofa far away from the net
Two pillows
In space for one
A blanket in a space for stole
In a place for none

For the night
A night without breathing
I can adjust with a cigarette
For a lung can’t live.

WhatsApp messenger

I never signed anything written that I have to have a smartphone with a WhatsApp account for my job. I never signed anything more than teaching my kids and ready them for placements. I think it was a bonus curse that I have been answering for not having one particular communication application officially, like a sin I have committed. Yes there are good things too, I didn’t sign for. Love, friendship, fun. I will always remember.

I never liked smartphone, the thing I am holding right now, I don’t know how much I hate it, it snatched my books away, my refreshing walk at dawn, weakening my bio clock. But where will I write? How will I click photos? How will I avoid the screaming violence in air without the music of my earphones?

I think I know how. It’s just, like the digital communication application I have never signed for, I am stuck, super glued with chains of unbreakable hydrocarbon bond. I am scared to answer why did I break it. Make myself free, lie to them, people I am obliged to love at any cost. I think I can do it when I can.


What did I get and what did I lose? If I ask this question after the conversation I had with all the clarification I have provided of my anger, I think I got nothing. I think clarity isn’t something all appreciate. And I think I am not capable enough with my well constructive words, to portray that I am get angry with myself.
Who am I to show my anger on someone else? I am the coward here trying to normalize life. More than a decade is over and I still can feel the hand stroking my breasts, not a single pair of lips could wipe out the mark of my confused pleasure I couldn’t stop when I could have. Believe me I have tried. Tried all the way to remove all the memories, guilt. But who am I to blame others.

I don’t remember how much I have laughed when my mind were somewhere else, with the flashbacks of everything killing me, or keeping me alive for greater punishments. My laugh has cursed me with the natural outcome, like my face muscles move without my command, and the lips widen. Nothing happened it’s written in my face whilst the hell burn, inside. How can I say I hate myself for enjoying it, I don’t enjoy it at all. Like the most potent psychedelic, my existence has conned me.

I am incapable of blaming anyone since then, Or maybe long before that. I remember blaming myself for coming out of my mum’s womb early too. I could have had a new year, to start. A spring to learn from. Instead I got winter. And an immense love for it. After 2 and a Half decades, of my white snow covered life, I know all people gone home, next to their personal fireplaces for warmth and comfort, I have blamed myself thousand times for the people I tried to hold for few more minutes in cold gray roads. Must have known they are out in emergency, must’ve know they must go home, and I delayed them, what did I get? Nothing

And What did I lose? A spring? Or maybe not. Warmth must have melted me away, snatching all the snow from my breasts covered well under the thick snow of guilt
Too numb to feel anything else.
Too numb to blame the warmth at a far away bonfire, it’s my fault I came too close.
What should I put if I have to punctuate the feelings, conclude the words? I think I had a very good sleep at night, under the cold blanket. today my cats let me stay alone too. I could move my cramped leg for comfort, letting go the stress for today, today is my day. i won’t lose it for the messed up unclarified life I have got, a life I am not even sure of.


My friend and I were talking after a long frustrating month. we were finally talking about something more than good morning, good night and how to edit the wedding photographs.

We were talking about a narrow lane he discovered at his locality, the kind of conversations I crave for.

After a long decaying time of life, and pointless conversations about sex, office politics and sexist slangs; there was this narrow lane.
I remember the narrow lane of my childhood next to my home. And I remember remembering that I never saw the end of it. Only memory I have of that lane was my then hero, my father figure saved a kitten. How brave he was, didn’t care for the wound he got on his face, later I put boroline on it, crying, with my tiny hands. The only antiseptic I knew at three years of age. More than two decades have passed since then. Home has changed and relationships. Rough hands wounded me with the same antibiotics I can never heal.
Making me cowardly brave enough to go on. And greedy for a place to belong, place never exist or like the end of the lane, somewhere I never explored.

My friend and I were talking about how we miss each other, like the narrow lane we could have explored, I think we could have had a conversation too, long before today, every yesterday we could have. We could have just fucked everything and went for discovering those narrow lanes of our childhood full of fluffy kittens in distress. But there was I, trying hard and hard and hard to change the topic of cheap politics, and slangs indicating particular sets chromosomes by the not so narrow lane ends at the iron grid of Territorial government assurance. It will keep us safe, from the pond next to it, and fishes.

We could have had a great conversation, Conversation I was missing, never realising doesn’t matter how narrow it was, it was a lane, and it leads somewhere. And there will be a home.

My friend said he discovered a home there, at his locality at the end of that lane, a home he never saw before. It happens, life it is. Eventually it gets better, with a good conversation and end of some looping lanes.

Facts about fiction

I cannot write fiction. I cannot. I envy them who can. That sweet escape in words and dimensions, the surreal structure of its existence, it reminds me of my brother.

As I said I cannot write fiction, every corner of every space and time possible I am stuck with reality. In every touch I find the absence of love, in every window I find an emergency door, locked.

I don’t even dream of my brother anymore, since he is gone. But the distinguishable emptiness, like a particle from our existence is gone. A matter is annihilated by some kind of antimatter. A place in my space, contain nothing. Not even nothing I guess.

I sometimes hold my pen and book, try to write things abstract and bizarre. Like “one man travelled to the exact opposite direction of his destination……”

I think even if we travel towards the opposite direction, we will reach there eventually. Late, super late we will reach there. With trees we haven’t seen, roads we haven’t walked, people we haven’t met, reality we haven’t believed, fictions we haven’t wrote…..

As I said, I cannot write fiction. But maybe we all are miserable, walking opposite directions, directions of words

I think we will all meet somewhere in between, in my meeting place and their telephone flavored sand dune in a purple desert where storms are like sexes, and we orgasm silence of chaotic symphony.

As I said….

Creation with a latex cap on

I have seen it all
The creation
The end
Balance in between
The continuous process
Of atoms
I have seen my blood vessels
Traveling like lights
The heat I could measure
Inside my skin
Like a star burning endlessly
The current in my nerves
Exploding in every stroke
Hitting my brain

I have seen every particles
Created my mere body
How endless they are
And how it will end
With few orgasms
Times we have created
And a sleep
Sleep for my exhausted tiny mind

Here comes good night.

Being the other woman

I wanted to ask
The limitless I am breaking
Or creating
I wanted to know my part in it
I wanted to measure her image
He might see in me
The pixels and atoms
I would like to forget
I would like to remember
I wanted to ask
How much truth there is
In the lie we played
Where we drained
Drenched in things
We couldn’t name
Dried our soul
I wanted to let it go
Somewhere in remembrance


Have you ever wondered, people we have sex with, spend some time, stays in memories, blaming our hormones. The bodily need behind it.
It isn’t that simple, or Maybe it is.
There are some certain things, not Love not sex. Something in between or not any of it. Some what ifs, some clicks, some trickeries of words we play with. Acting like we understand but we do not, deep down we do though, not telling our skins.

Some no hopes, some no worries, some to live in the moment with. Sometimes some words doesn’t exist in vocabulary. It has its own sound, own language and dialects in strokes of hands, subtle movements of fingers, the rough escape in tight grips and lips trying to breathe failing without complaining.

Some times, some things we cannot name. We must not, let them be just wordless.

House fly

If love is attachment
I don’t know how to love
My love is seeing us
Letting go
Traveling in light speed
Covering spaces
In this decaying time
I would fall
Fall for the gravity
Where we will fly