my taste for rain has changed I no longer cry storms. my taste for thunder begun, when my feet vowed to return.
my taste for rain on arid soil, the dawn begun and with the weather I was over i vowed my storm will return.
Under the faint sky, my taste for rain evolved. Grew into a wildfire of monsoons I returned with hailstones under my feet Storm in my weathered eyes; Hurricanes in the palm of my hands . I sing hemisphere their lullabies I sting hemispheres with ache
When the taste for rain swelled I delivered harmattan in rage Dry, arid, cool, fever of hot and warm. I refrained from bringing my weathered storm.
My taste for rain has brewed. I poured the temper warm and stewed. Under the eeriness of the night I grew the rain and plucked the storm Then I threw the waning sun.
My taste for rain has changed I bought the heat with my auburn tresses And winter stares I wore like lavalieres. I gathered ice from stony places I spewed when it melted Because my taste for rain has changed.
I change my taste for rain; or has rain changed my taste.
Silver soothing in the sky I changed my songs of thunder. Let no stars open the sky asunder.
My taste for rain has changed Not for now, today, tomorrow but decades. My taste for rain has changed.
Inject my world with dust so I can rain in August My taste for rain has changed. I bury the tears now on my discovered rage My taste for rain has changed.
WORDS: clearing out the truths in my closet i find another. amidst the chaos and the calm, there drapes the dark woollen coat. persistently promising to always be in vogue. its length smiles at my older self its warmth laughs at my latter days its style larks at the former self its size beams in my early age telling me its elegance is grasped at a certain stage. yet we are sheared from the same black sheep. spun from the same yarn. cut from the same cloth. Continue reading “Black Sheep (Poetry)”→
she asks herself and asks again. as her voice breaks like floral porcelains, she picks up the pieces. it hurts, it takes time. for the little pieces perforates and sinks into the hands like the painful memories. there she pulls the shards and plaster the wound. silence reminds her that she has been here before and how the plates has a habit of wilting on the kitchen floor.
WORDS: at the dark red dusk, the monsoon flooded raining kerosene and paraffin trickles of oil lashed like lightning leaving imprint on wooden windows the flames upraising like an anthem and we asked our bloodshot eyes to stop chanting with smoke engraved in our parched coughing we watch the arid commodities burn with the heat. red spices and brown sugar turn to black ash no matches, no lighters but lulled flames the black ash swallowing red sand and brown water. the insatiable wild fire left us no choice but to watch its blaze soothe our wounds neighbours whisper like the cackling fire. omitting the etymology of the flames. at the dark red dusk, the monsoon flooded raining kerosene and paraffin and once it swallowed the house the desertion of debris and black ashes heaved like the husks of mangoes.
a shame is coming, lurking over the horizon. it hisses, coughs and laughs. wanting its presence known. brewing in hatred for reputation refusing to revere character. on its arrival they tried to flee billowing into the distance
Examine the flailing weeks fold itself like paper; as it cuts the days, tucks in the minutes and creases the seconds. cocooning into an origami of the things it strives for till it calls into the calmest crane. forgetting a thousand cranes brings luck but this one is troubled; creased by a thousand yet it doesn’t sink in its despondence
WORDS: vacuum darkens the mind. with the skin pleading against the light, there the sears of charcoal singe the barren skin and kerosene swims into the blisters. the scratch of the match becomes, the last melody she hears. ashes to ashes, Continue reading “Injustice (Poetry)”→