There are marks on my face,
from a time I don’t remember.
My mom says,
it’s from when she was pregnant,
with my little sister,
and we had flown back,
to our other home,
to be with her family.
She said I was too young,
to understand,
that we do not scratch,
when bed bugs bite.
That the impulse to respond,
leaves scars.
Which would have disappeared,

But that is what innocence entailed,
unfiltered responses,
raw emotions.
A barely 2 year old would never,
need to understand,
the consequences of marks.
A barely 2 year old would revel,
in the immediate relief,
that actions bring.

As I grew up,
wariness triggered anxiety.
Marks became,
distressing contours on bare skin.
The fear of being harmed,
hurt in rebound anger,
became greater than,
pointing out glaring wrongs.
Greater than saying the things,
that in stone,
have already been set.

And when I heard one day,
“Thanks, for everything.”
I felt a surge of fury.
Because irresponsibility doesn’t excuse,
not even me.
But I stayed quiet,
when I should have savagely replied,
Your thank you,
has no right.
I never volunteered to fill,
for your gaping lack of shame.
Or endure a struggle,
so heavy,
in the face of your self entitlement,
purely out of,
my sense of responsibility.

Yet I stayed silent,
and it still eats me alive,
to not have voiced out against transgressions,
and rightfully poured my heart out.
To have feared the scars,
which could have branded,
the very growth of me.
An emblem of maturity,
as opposed to a heart of scabs,
I keep picking at.
As soon as it begins,
to barely heal.



Your heart oscillates,
with his heart.
Like the ding of a pendulum,
always in swing.
Endlessly ticking,
breaking away,
tick tock, tick tock.
Yet always drawn back,
to the hourly twelve mark.

In despair.
But still very much,
in love.

Your heart oscillates,
with his heart,
It swings for moments,
lasting bear seconds.
Held so close,
disproportionately dear.
For him your time,
comes to a standstill.
Awaiting a love,
that clocks in and out,
aware of an absence of feelings,
you keep wishing for.

So hurt.
So lonely.
So broken.
So deeply in despair.
But still very much,
in love.


Once you create hierarchies,
amongst people.
You have lost your cause,
you are not fighting for rights,
you are fighting for pride.

Racism should not beget,
reverse racism.
Suffering should not beget,
entitlement to cruelty.
Hatred should not beget,
privileged abhorrence.

What undid you,
should not undo,
your humanity.
Being the better person never was,
and never will be,
the easy journey.


No matter how attached,
your heart is to your world.
No matter how long it has taken,
for you to build it.
One day it will all come,
crashing down.
This is not the end.

So brace yourself,
storms are yet to pass by,
rains yet to wash away.
Your breaths still come,
even if they waver.
So breathe,
tell yourself love,
again and again,
this is not the end.
This is not the end.

Random Musings of an Insomniac 78

There will always be,
that one face you search for,
amongst many faces.
That one voice,
that perks up your ears,
drowning out all the surrounding hustle.
That one presence,
you can feel,
before even seeing.

There will always be,
that special person for all of us.
And may it be,
the love you find,
in this lifetime.

– For you at least,

I wish,

may it be

You will never…

You will never understand,
why those eyes convey,
more than those lips.
Why those lips,
never convey,
what they seem to,
so very deeply feel.

You will never understand,
how a heart can lock away,
so much of itself,
that it’s eyes start to plead,
to be released from the inferno,
of choosing blindness,
when they can clearly see.

You will never understand,
why the blatant volatility of this world,
will never overcome,
never overrule,
will never teach,
that you don’t simply let,
the people you love,
or can come to intensely love,
so effortlessly leave.

Home and You

I thought nonchalance would,
make my heart believe.

But I am back to the same shores.
I feel the same roots,
I search for the same shadows,
under the leaves of the same tree.

My feet follow the same footprints,
etched on,
too familiar floors.
The same suffocating air I once,
ran away from,
is the one that invites me home.

Familiarity still whispers,
through cracks in the walls.
Muffled sounds still filter,
through now empty halls.

I thought nonchalance would,
make my heart believe.

That one day it will learn,
to care less.
Be afraid,
to give more.
feelings need to be reciprocated,
some doors remain forever closed.

But in the end,
even after years of dissociation,
my heart will always be mine,
and you will always be,
The nostalgia,
the memories,
the warmth,
the all consuming feelings,
I forever struggle,
to hide.