Category: Uncategorized

Kim Philby was a spy
Not some ordinary guy
Left it all behind, see what
He could find, betrayed his
friends & country, only to be
Mistrusted for the sins that’d
Brought him in…died along the
Black Sea distrusted by the KGB

Kim Philby was a man
Well loved in his native land
Sold out Britain to the
Communists, in a lifelong
Idealogical conniption fits.
Never forgiven by MI5, & not
Even the Russians were happy
to see him alive…

Kim Philby…

Trusting in the self.
Accepting that which is inside,
That which is inherent to the experience of individualism.
The individualized self.
Disrupting the conditions of the status quo.
Breaking free from the prison of conformity.
Accepting the truth of a personal experience.
Cleansing the toxic dynamics
The destructive atmosphere.
Reconstituting the narrative
Reconstructing the ideology to that which is positive
Breaking barriers and molds
Shattering through glass ceilings to find that which is physically and emotionally revealing;
Now appealing
A new perspective.
A new landscape,
Forging a new path on a new plane of existence.
Trusting in the self.
Accepting that which is inside.
That which is inherent to the experience of individualism.

I’ve been dead longer than I’ve been alive.
And I’ll be that again
We come from death and death takes us back
life is only a hiccup in our default unawareness
How kind of Death to allow us a moment in time to venture into existence
But she is jealous and pulls us to her bosom once more whenever she pleases
No matter our goals and aspirations
Where we exist in nonexistence

In a bed with cotton sheets,
a child lies in her nal sleep.
Her mother weeps, heart in pain,
as gentle whispers fall like rain.

“Mommy please don’t cry for me,
for in this moment, I am free.
The pain is gone, the fear has ed,
I’m safe and warm, my soul is fed.

Though my breath may fade away,
in your heart I’ll softly stay.
In every ower, in every song,
my spirit lives, my love is strong.

Though I must go, our bond remains,
through endless time, through joy and pain.
In every heartbeat pure and true,
I am forever a part of you.”

Death has glass teeth and a cotton tongue

we sing sleep, pull the mouth

in the deep sew the lips to grin

these bones fracture without eyes.

Home in time.

This poem is to be read left to right, then a second time top to bottom along the three columns.

I
I held your hand
in the cabin of my honda civic,
parked in front of my childhood home
three county lines away,
and you looked at me
from the drivers side
& you finally forgave me,
things are gonna be okay.
squeezing my hand with reassurance,
as if our palms were lips,
as if this promise was sealed with a kiss.

We studied botany together
under a sprawling tree,
branches skimming the edges of the sky,
green fingers tugging at the tendrils
clouds seep down to earth
reminding the clouds when
they were lovers too, &
begin to forgive each other again,
cloud and branches pulling a comforter
over the sun, signing it to sleep.

we rise and you ride my shoulders
along the park’s central lake,
lilies strewn across the surface,
like tiny pearls displayed on blue satin.
then we waded through the lake,
your thighs pressing my neck,
your ankles, secure in my hands,
your soul safe from the treacherous algae
winding its way around my ankles,
slithering up my thighs,
trying to find a way into my heart.

We dried off in my dorm.
I hung up your water logged clothes
drench in the lake and we lay together
our bodies chanting to ward off cold.
you looked to me in the
shade drawn dusk of my room,
and said I still love you.

The shock of that,
woke me.

II
I woke up
in a marsh morphing into mattress.
I refused to lose you again,
Forced my body back to dreamland
to guide myself into
the world we made,
Where we went to college,
Where branches caress our cheeks
to bless our reunion
Where wading through water
meant slipping on smooth stones,
algae gripping at my thighs
stealing sips of my soul,
ankles bitten by cottonmouths
lurking in the bowels of the lake
slipping venom into my exposed veins
On your behalf,
Where all it took was my shoulders to repair us.

but you know you can’t step
in the same river twice.
the story began the same
a long drive to campus
through pines and palms,
arriving with my friend
dripping rubies from her arm.
then I caught a glimpse
Of a Cherry Slush
Garnet blush
pixie-cut.

I tried to lucid dream you home.
I followed a map.
Its dream cartography
Directed me to a library of maps,
even one from WWII.
Eventually it lead me to
forgotten friends,
dead relatives,
But never you.

One night,
I finally found you.
After saying Hello,
you evaporated like dew,
after the few hours
it visits in the morning,
Except you dissipated immediately
Stealing little droplets of life
From our tree, the clouds,
and finally myself.

So as sunlight trickles in from the midday sun,
and I hear the din of my grandmother
heating her small black coffee pot.
Now I know in the land of dreams, you are actually me.
I have to Wonder: is this how it feels to forgive myself?
 

In my hometown,
winter was a fairy tale.
The concept of time,
a rising curve,
capturing
our attention with its hook.
In the midst of this thought,
I want to pause at the climax,

as if watching
the story that lies beyond,
at the end of the slide. Yesterday
I was calculating the rest of the day
with a glitch in my system.
The frozen dawn in the darkness,

back to old times,
hanging out in isolated cabins—
kerosene lamps, lit up candles,
those wood stoves that always work.
The rest of my friends like little shadows
in the middle of the campsite. In our town,
the old, renewed winter was a fairy tale,
and I tried to remember that machinery
can always be fixed—I thought

we’d have to be ready
to forgo some of the day’s plans,
and return to our manuals,
or call our parents for instructions
to make a bit more tea,
and relax with our limited tools
and our problems.

Each winter, the wet earth devours the gravel,
so reserving some fixed paths
for torrential rains and melted snow
requires planning. Yesterday
I was calculating the rest of the day
with a glitch in the system,
but back to energy—

I’ll change the batteries
next time and get some spares
with a block of cast iron;
I’ll add a bunch more solar panels.

My friends decided to warm the edges of the cabin
by moving a few feet away,
burning pine boards
for their candles. Trapped among the woods,
listening to the whispers of the breeze,
stuck in Woodstock—
as free as we could be,
with canned food munitions
and our weekend itinerary,

without needing the campfire to convey
the tales of some winter
even as the falling flakes
became a mass,
their individuality erased
in a flurry of white snow.

Orion, Pleiades opening constellations
in the dark, while the group recalls
old anecdotes from when we were younger—
a conjugation of time’s frame,
decorated by a white glow on the hills
while we barely distinguish
their silhouettes afar, trying to count
the stars as they fade like light.

From the east comes a sudden wind
that wakes us;
we, diurnal beings,
greet the star
fading in the distance,
as another splendor
is about to begin the morning.

Cold dawn in the darkness,
back to old times;
kerosene lamp, candles,
wood stoves that always worked.
The rest of my friends
as little shadows outside the cabin,
their heads covered in Eskimo hats,
living a wisdom
that is far off—

awareness has a distinctive form.
Our present selves,
empty and formal in their discourse;
these character arcs,
so deep and superficial.

A spark of a liberating spirit
that traps us
back in Woodstock.

Turmeric is the aroma I smelt from the kitchen, my am’ma calling me to the table for dinner
Telugu and Tamil are the languages I hear from family, tongues I did not understand
Silk is the fabric I felt from my kurta, a garb a boy from Maryland felt out of place in
Chai is jolt I taste in the morning, a drink I once found off putting now one of my favorites
A man with skin of chocolate and eyes of almonds is what I see in the mirror,
A man now proud of his culture

In the meadows where the grasshoppers sit,
where the ants laboriously make their pits,
where the rabbits hop around with glee,
a place where nature embraces me,
where I encounter the unfathomable divine,
soaked in the gorgeous sunshine.
A place where loneliness befriends me,
encircled by the endless sea,
when the dolphins reach out to play,
with the ebbs and flows, we sway,
clouds float in the blue sky,
a place that hears my cry.
The birds call out my name,
where the wild is not tamed,
the trees comfort my soul,
and, the rats digging out holes,
the divine resting in the ocean,
admiring, His flawless creation.
Encompassing the galaxies and beyond,
entwined in a timeless bond,
gazing at the fragility of life,
precious times wasted on strife,
a desire to experience my creator,
and, seek a purpose much greater.
Nature summons me to the wild,
I follow like an obedient child,
an opportunity to witness the unknown,
On this journey, I walk alone,
into the wilderness with its magical powers,
the mysterious path, adorned with wild flowers.