Outer Space.

Even in deep space,

your love holds me down,

Your embrace has weight,

and keeps me coming, back around

I was on track to be a tragedy,

before we collided, like stars

You give me gold, you give me gravity,

and it's more than fancy cars

I was a lonely planet on my own

Now you are the sun to my moon

I orbit you and feel at home.

I was in ruins, but I'm brand new.

No distance between us,

could break us, or tear us

apart.

Not miles, or minutes,

not even lightyears would be

too far for my arms.

You light up my galaxy,

our universe exists inside

my heart.

Closer than the others,

if I'm Earth, then you are my Mars.

You keep me human, keep me golden,

keep me green, and grounded.

Give me freedom, give me healing,

eclipse me, leave me astounded.

Celestially, you are the best for me,

I rest my chemistry, and let you

undress me.

Effortlessly, you impress me,

effervescent, I'm obsessing.

Astro know me, come explore me,

Supernova, satisfy my

celestial body, cosmo comet,

asteroid shower, like meteorites,

I stargaze, and you give me power.

Design for Trauma.

When my moods change without prediction, I withdraw into my shell.  Like an ostrich obstructing its arrest, I plant my head safely into the ground.  Although life has thrown me curveballs, planting many obstacles along my path,  I rose above the rain to reign resilient. 

As the sole male heir-apparent born after four, fiercely independent daughters, my parents' religion and culture collided to overwhelm me with a list of duties, and obligations.  Until my father took the downtrodden road for deadbeat dads, creating a strong, empowered single mother out of the waif he left behind.

Mom fought hard day in and out, wreaking havoc on the system, her education taught her tolerance, and blessed us with integrity, and wisdom.  Calm prevailed for a short song, until addiction dug its ugly claws into my sister's broken heart.  

At twenty-three, her lungs, kidneys, and heart stopped, and set her free from the LUPUS that medical research seemed to have forgot. I was nine and had no idea who death was or what it sought, so I collapsed into myself until neither shrink nor exorcist could figure out why I'd began to rot.

Substance abuse, self-harm, and solicitation started my rebellious stage.  I felt caged inside the body of some unfamiliar fiend; rape resulted in recklessness, street gangs, and rage, as I raced against the clock.  Suicidal ideation, and attempts became my obsessive thoughts, until a dual-diagnoses derailed my disappearing act; Bipolar-II and post-traumatic stress became cut away at me, like a double-sided sword.  Eventually, I'd make another twenty-seven attempts to end my pain, three of them were near successes, but I'm so thankful that I got them wrong.  

Added trauma, anxiety, and visits to the ER occupied my time, when I wasn't exploring my sexual identity, as I tried to simultaneously grow and rewind time to heal the little boy inside who remained lost.  Another sister's untimely demise and I thought life had finally won; in an instant, I lost my sister, role model, and best friend then watched my entire world flash bloody red before fading to broken black.  With little strength inside to go on, I went out like the light inside me that had also died.  Until the day I discovered a reserve of strength inside me waiting for me to pull it out; this is where I began to heal myself before I could also help the world.  

These scars, this story, and disease are merely pieces of my flawed design for trauma, without them I'd be someone else but I am strong enough to bear these crosses.  I am better because of my battle, life beat me into beauty.  To you, my garden might seem overrun with weeds, or rotten but to me, it is the rain-forest that saved me.  

Sibling Rivalry.

It must take incredible resolve to stay focused at the circus.  For some, chaos is the buzz and pestering of a simple fly.  It is a feat to stay afloat despite being deprived of a lifeboat.

With the self-restraint of saints, equipped with minimal complaint.  How does one bite their tongue through lifelong chronic pain, as their loved ones bellow over broken nails and migraines.

This kind of bravery seemed made for comic books and fairy tales; epics based on Viking Gods, or stories about sailors and sperm whales. Until that unforgettable day not too long ago, when I rubbed my eyes, in disbelief, as I watched my own sister effortlessly complete superhuman deeds.

There is nothing quite as loud as the silence that accompanies the truth; it echoes inside of us, before it blares like trumpets in a padded room and then blows off the roof.

I spent a lifetime believing confidence belonged to those who dared to shout.  Mistaken, now, as I admit my sister's silence did not stem from her self-doubt. Instead, it was her way of saving us from the fires we started in every single house.

Now, I burn from my own shame, for all the times I cursed her out, assumed she was my rival when she'd only been looking out.

For making false accusations to twisted sisters who laughed at me behind my back, and even to my face.  I cannot eat my acidic words, or ever remove those stains.  I can, however, commit to behaving the way a brother worthy of her should behave.

I beam, with pride now, as my vision is no longer clouded by my own delusion, or promises uttered by others only to be lost to the wind.  Grateful, more than ever, to have finally paid attention long enough to applaud an authentic femme fatale, who is also my best friend.

The fear of loss has made me quicker to count my blessings from above; the greatest of which, are her and our mother's unconditional love.  From sibling rivalry, to reverence, she is the one person I could never be without.  If it weren't for those pinches, I'd probably be six feet underground.

Shakti.

I stood there helplessly, drowning in defeat,
darkened by my inability to breathe life into
your rusted heart's resilient beat—
a symphony I memorized from the inside,

in forty weeks.

Incapable of returning you to the raven haired beauty of your prime, I bite my tongue until I'm numb, as if my lips have been sewn shut with twine.

You heal me when you hold me then transport me back in time, to the days of yesteryear, when I was still your innocent, little child.

I am haunted by the trauma when I will one day find, that I can no longer turn to you for comfort, or the reassurance of your smile.

I know I run but I am frightened, when I see you've become so frail.My mind refuses a reality where you are no longer my nightingale.

Your song lulled me into slumber, as you softly sang the world to sleep.

If only I had looked at you long enough to see,
that all you were ever doing was trying to love me.

There is no bond like that between a mother and her only son, even if he is less deserving of
her pride than he is of her scorn. 

Circonflexe

His arms unencumbered me,
removing all signs of weakness,
seasick though I was,
I somehow survived through stormy season. 

A whisper, a glimmer;
strategic breaths that kissed my neck.
A runner, a sprinter,
only he could rescue me from wreck. 

Inside my tattered mind,
two wrongs could never make a right,
until he blessed me with his Francophony
that made me blossom overnight.

Mamta.

Your strained voice
cries out to me, like the sage sitar.
It sings a sobering song
that transports me through sand.

Suddenly, a memory of your
loving care becomes so real.

I watch, awestruck,
as you took my tears
then weaved them into cloth.
Embroidered with golden silks
you pulled from the fabric
of your heart.

We never had much,
but your patience had me convinced
you were the palace in which we lived.

I exhale—only the warmth of love
and adoration escapes from my lungs;
in you, we have the stars.

Despite the struggle,
we only ever tasted the sweet saffron
you skillfully slipped into our souls.

Shalimar is in you;
my mother IS a Taj Mahal.
Her every breath's a nectar;
it is cardamom's caress.

I would reanimate a hundred thousand times
just to relive the splendour of her shadow;
it was the sunrise of my lifetime.

I would relive every sadness behind my eyes
just to breathe the soothing citrus-scented air
of her orange grove.

I have never come so close to saintliness,
and I can soundly say
my spirit has never been the same.

Three. Sixty. Five.

I -

Bones rattled and teeth chattered, 

like unwanted shrapnel from some unsavoury stew. 

Smiling whilst administering lethal injections 

that painted both our lips blue—

even Gestapo couldn't be callous like you.

II -

Cleansing rain falls from clouds 

onto my caterwauling heart, 

rescuing it from the extreme state 

where its mouth was blistered and parched. 

Today—I have been granted a fresh start.

III - 

Ablaze again; amazed, by the ways 

I have evolved into a better man. 

Not terracotta delicate but rather, 

resilient as rock. 

Baked but bathing in the beat 

of brilliant song.

IV -

Recycle, reuse, reduce, then rinse, 

and finally repeat. 

The regrowth that left me reborn 

buried itself beneath the Beeches,

and below the streets; 

a cycle come full circle and complete.

V -

With little visibility, 

all I could do was brave whatever lie ahead. 

When all falls down and failure reigns, 

remember even yeast rises again 

it can blossom into bread.

VI -

In the aftermath of my desperation—

once my sorrow's streams dried up like the Sahara. 

I wouldn't resign myself to monochrome. 

I could not surrender to Sepia! 

I opted to explode with vibrancy instead; 

raging reds, orange opulence, 

and you'll-never-forget-me yellows.

Equanimity.

Like the fog protects the sky,
I held you close, with watchful eye.
Incapable of enduring another loss,
as trees mourn leaves slain by the frost.

On bended knee, I gave myself to thee,
only canines know such loyalty.
Like petals perspiring with dew,
there can be no me without you, too.

So, I just dance like second hands,
that measure time, in all the land.
I am the key—you are my lock;
like lyrics in our lover's rock.

Us.

You and I were like Alexander and Genghis Khan—we conquered the entire world;
In your arms I was the oyster,
who proudly displayed his very first pearl.

You and I were giants—no match for Jack and his pitiful magic beans.
I gazed lovingly into your eyes; you were the golden goose of my dreams

You and I were Dostoesvky,
Dickensian when we talked.
But soon enough, we stopped listening,
and all we ever did was fought.

Remember when I was Shah Jahan
and I built you the Taj Mahal?
Your eyes despised it, soon enough,
and you demanded I add another wall.

Do you recall the times I tried to redeem myself with jasmine scented words?
Pretty soon all you did was chastise me
with your acid speech that burned.

You and I could've reached the top of Everest, but all you did was tear down my Great Wall.
I wanted you to be my empress, but you just wanted to watch my empire fall.

Now I am lost for words—my lips have been sealed and then sewn shut;
I just wish we could go back to you and I, instead of left questioning what is what.

when the dams burst, we will patch them up with words

"Tell me again, where is it you stop and the succubus begins? Why is it that once we separated we both ceased to exist?" A vanishing act, in two parts.

Act One: My pitiful proposal right in the middle of study circle was the first arrow to pierce your unfeeling heart. A feat more noble than neon on the periodic table. And you? If you were an element, it would be gangrene, the way you suddenly appeared and immediately created a crime scene. A biohazard more toxic and lethal than Fukushima. You radiated light, and at first glance I was blinded. Now that each individual shard of shrapnel has been plucked from my silver eyes, I see that you were nothing but nuclear. Once a dream within a dream, until you decayed and became a fucking nightmare within another godforsaken nightmare. Like those matronly Russian nesting dolls, but instead made up of demons, until there was nothing left but desolation.

Act Two: What happened to the wide eyed hopeful freshman that I met handing out pamphlets to save the rainforest or feed the world or whatever cause you'd attached yourself to at the time to make your human form seem believable. That same kid with the thick accent from East L.A. who arrived on a full scholarship to help inner city sweethearts avoid the inevitable—getting initiated into the first gang whose leader fell in love with her. I should've known the damage was already done and that you were the greatest con artist to wield a pen as a weapon. You seduced lovesick idiots from all walks of student life. Who knew future doctors, lawyers, and politicians could all be so easily swayed. Either way, you were a lost Latina princess who made men feel like one of your Latin Kings.

What happened to our heroine who refused to be branded like the cattle that would never be found on her plate. She was skilled in every recipe from cookbooks of anarchy. Who knew sometimes even soldiers sold out and became the same sheep they swore up and down 'til kingdom come that they would never be. The very sheep who required shearing and saving from a slaveowner who would rather refer to himself as a shepherd.

Behind the scenes a heavier battle was brewing...a conflict that was as deep as canyons grand, that had way too many layers. Our waxen eyed protagonist met his Waterloo in a spicy Puerto Rican seductress. Together, they personified academia, every interaction either ended with evacuated lecture halls or underneath ramen-noodle-stained-thrift-store-bargain-basement sheets. Spectators sighed at the sight of these star-crossed young lovers like modern day Montagues and Capulets. Together, they were an unstoppable machine.

Lovestruck or love's fools? The line between their overlapping identities faded with each day. They put blood, sweat and every last teardrop into the resistance. A revolution like no other, they claimed, that was the brainchild of their brilliance. As they grew closer, their separate clumsy heartbeats merged into one single thunderous rhythm. Surely nothing could come between a love that was united in humanitarian efforts.

By the time graduation robes neared, and colours reappeared across campus, the string that bound these altruists had started to come undone. Consumed by consumerism, a worldly woman in designer threads stood in place of our former rebellious lioness. As she appeared to be a phoney, her subjects rightly labeled her a fraud. Soon, her expensive appearance was a liability to their cause.

One black Friday between thunderstorms was when this War of the Rhodes' came to a halt; she turned away in anger only to be struck by his left lightning bolt. Electrified, and hurt as we reach the final breaths of real love, as it often ends. Only fairy tales wrap in happiness, why else would they appeal to us heartbroken humans.

What about healing, like we planted trees? What of the hospitals, where we pulled smiles out of the broken and the weak? What about the prisons, the detention centres unjustly holding refugees? Where did we stray, where did the love go? When did our own silence need to be bought with violence? What about orphans, widows left to starve in the streets? Where did we go wrong, to get here today? What about love, sweet love that doesn't end up settling in court? When can we return to peace and harmony? Unless we turn back, we won't have a pretty planet to watch on TV. If Satan's greatest con was convincing us he doesn't exist, isn't it time for us to accept we got ourselves into this mess?

Silencio.

Find me where the cacophony of sounds
meets the deafening silence.
Devoid of noise pollution,
where our bodies do the talking.

Search for me in the unbeaten drum,
I hide in guitar strings that have yet to be plucked.
Most evident in the pregnant expectation
of an audience awaiting an orchestra's first notes.

Where aria meets melody, 
and where the beat tickles the rhythm;
you will notice me dancing between the lines,
like a whirling dervish, intoxicated.

I am in the sighs, and the frustration,
every exhalation between lovers in a spat.
There is much of me in their reconciling,
in the fire that rekindles their romance.

Listen closely and you will hear me, 
in the few moments of silence 
before the birds arise.

That is when I am most serene,
when I feel as tranquil as the sun 
that is about to fill the sky.

At the bottom of the ocean,
where it is eerily quiet,
I can be heard singing with 
the whales who break the intimidating silence.

When you are sad or lonely,
hush your mind and listen to your heart,
I will always live inside you, 
for that is where I end and where I start.

Edhi.

You are familiar with ISIS, Boko Haram,

and I believe you even know the Muffin Man.

Bin Laden, Saddam Hussein, and Gaddafi

are other famous names who fit

the narrative that demonizes Islam.

But I can guarantee, without a doubt,
that you have never heard

of the recently deceased Abdul Sattar Edhi,
for he was insignificant despite his existence
as a polarizing figure focused on the needy.

His altruism did not allow him to see caste,

religion, or creed; Edhi embodied

asceticism despite being surrounded by greed.

Philanthropy should feel fortunate

to have benefited from his brilliance.

All jokes aside, he was nicknamed

the “Angel of Mercy” for being

one in more than two hundred million.

He created a charitable empire

despite lacking any funding.

Proving determination is all it takes to create something from nothing.

Edhi was even dubbed the “Father Theresa” of Pakistan.

But once again, I must declare that our media

purposely ignored him because he was not

another mindless member of the Kardashian clan.

Exemplary of the positive aspects of

the Abrahamic religion he followed,
Edhi rescued abandoned infants.
rehabilitated orphans,

and even trained nurses.

Once reproached for his assistance of Non-Muslims

in his ambulances, when he was questioned for supporting
Hindus and Christians, he classically retorted

by explaining his vehicles were better adherents

of these bigots' twisted understanding of their own religion.

So I beseech thee, why is he still relatively unknown?
Is it because his beard and style of dress fit the description

of whom we are told to fear, by reporters we invite into our homes?

Whatever it is, I will do my best to ensure his becomes a household name,
he may not have wanted it whilst living, but soon his charity-work will be acclaimed.

Puzzling.

And he makes me want to carve myself.
Starving from extended winter,
I beckon to you with a finger.
Trembling; my veins fill with splinters.

Wooden slivers cut me from the inside,
I race towards any assistance.
Pressed, I pray for brooding brilliance.
Why do you play my ribs like piano keys.

Signal to you with smoky urgency,
peer into your zippered soul,
through magnifying glass eyes,
I catch you in action.

Hinting at the secret;
the secret code to my hunter heart.
You can access its emotion.
But do not tell the others.

Capture me in your net,
I beach myself on your bed.
You become the shore,
I slap at you lazily, like ocean.

Flowing, we crash into one another.
Resonate within me like cymbals.
I vibrate—cut me in two million pieces.
I win with my hands down.

Hold me in your clammy palm,
then blow me away, like dust.
Just let me scatter.
I yearn to know all the places!

No longer a mortar fortress.
Refined by this scandalous resilience.
These broken embraces can get so jumbled.
Shutter me. Forget my vulnerability anyway.

Estranged.

Everything is changing, coming to an end,
yesterday we were lovers, today we’re hardly friends.

From familiar to strangers, in less than a night,
don’t say you love me anymore, it doesn’t feel right.

Falling to pieces, like shrapnel from the sky,
I have used up all my resources, my tears have run dry.
Take all that you can and go, just leave my side,
as long as you always know, love is stronger than pride.

I am not so weak that I won’t survive,
this is not the first time I’ve had to stay alive,
no, it’s not the first day of my life,
I have felt the worst pain, love’s a knife

Throwing out the pictures I still have of you,
setting fire to the letters that only make me blue,

letting go seems like the only reasonable thing to do,

I cannot keep pretending that I haven’t got a clue.

The Visit.

Silhouettes and photographs, 

through the graveyard, 

walking fast, 

Depression era screenplays, 

around the corner 

fudge is made.

Streets now broken

once were paved, 

dystopian playground 

that can't be saved

blasting off like 

rocketships, 

careful to mind 

broken hips.

Steadfast like masts 

on olden ships, 

chocolate cookies 

without the chips, 

a bust of a long 

forgotten mannequin, 

shares cobwebs and dust 

with lustful novels harlequin.

Pornography disguised as romance, 

good for nothing more than laughs, 

that once filled the room, 

then caked the walls;

the floral prints inside the hall.

Buttons strewn across the floor,

sensible spools of yarn,

and cutting boards,

I memorize ev'ry cracked tile,

one day, I will emulate her style.

When all things old are new again,

and I wish I’d paid closer attention.

Careless clouds of smoke 

billowed with each puff,

of her menthol cigarettes

that made me cough.

Murder mysteries flashed 

on the silver screen,

whodunits solved by 

faded beauty queens.

She relives her glory days,

filled with movie stars 

and runaways.

Yesterday always sounds so neat,

when she talks of brawls 

that spilled into the street.

The ruthless record player slows to a halt;

hair once fiery red is now pepper-salt.

Classically beautiful, 

reeking of sophistication,

a kiss placed on each cheek, 

I'm fascinated.

My connection to the golden age

closes the door, 

then waltzes away.

Unbeknownst to me,

this would be the last time,

I would sip mint juleps 

and drink sherry wine.

My fairy grandmother 

slipped away that night,

dancing off into the starry light.

Separation Anxiety.

The fire burning inside me 
had started to subside,
caught up in memories of a love 
you were unable to provide. 
The light in my eyes flickered, 
and went out without a fight,
causing me to self-destruct; 
how do I survive devoid of sight? 

My blackened heart refuses 
to pick up and resume. 
The guilt you've burdened 
me with continues to consume 
the remnants of my sanity, 
refused to spare my dignity. 
Swallowed in a sea of pity, 
taught a lesson in humility. 

Many years had passed; 
assumed I had regained control;
seemed like it'd been so long 
since I'd been granted parole. 
Not a promise, or a lesson; 
just a disdainful release. 
Content for the longest time, 
I thought I was at peace. 

Yet, you've returned, once again, 
to wreak havoc on my soul. 
Falling apart, scattered in pieces. 
Broken again, love has paid its toll
on my life devastated, 
by the knife you concealed in your spine,
and because of your endless torment. 
Our bodies have separated; no longer entwined.