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; i t 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 ha...
Accident-prone yet bulletproof, resilience courses through my veins. After pulling shrapnel from my own hell-bent self-destruction, all I was left with was me. Through embracing my darkness, I found the light. Here lives a collection of poetry, prose, and reflections on trauma, survival, desire, and becoming.