Alpha.

I'm the Alpha, the Omega, 
you're played out like Sega.  
Genesis—originator; 
nemesis, you're just a hater. 

Delusional; 
you're no prophet, sis. 
I am opulent, 
you're the opposite.  

Alif Laam Ra, 
When I hit you with the ha; 
Hey Ali Baba,
this is the return of Jafar.

When he does his magic tricks,
just avert your gaze,
before it's too late 
and you're all ablaze.  

This false leader's lies 
end in fiery graves; 
couldn't even lead a pencil 
'cause he's that depraved.  

Ankh ankh, bitch; 
just move out the way—
better save your soul 
before that judgment day.  

You can call upon Ra, 
or even email Anubis, 
no God would save you now, 
but I bet you already knew this.

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.