My back is a warzone

Where my lover traces it’s border to my spine.

There are landing spaces for jets

In my vertebral columns

And landmines on my ribs.

My father doesn’t approve of this relationship.

He says that a woman’s body is a sacred tomb

No lover should play with planes on that.

For he will be the martyr in the end

And you the dead imbecile.

He says society will divide your land

And decorate your peaks

Paint you in color they think nice.

Red isn’t only for blood

And remember,

Wars should be over by the.

And you should forget about love.

Your body should be a market place

Not a warzone, he says

A market place where you sell love

Which you are a stranger to.

A market place where, you should give all yourself

And expect nothing in return.

A market place where money have no role to play

It’s only fake promises and dead dreams

To which you will sell your love.

But alas, warzone or a market place.

I know

There will never be peace.

My back is a warzone

Everything else is a graveyard.

Now, rest in peace

Continue reading “Warzone”


Psychedelic dream

I kissed the hands of my mother
and the pointy fibres at end of my bed
Scratched my cheeks, I lost a few cells.
Her hands they smelled like fish
I don’t like the curry
But I eat it, Mamma’s hands.

While At school my teacher asks me
Why are your cheeks red
How did it cut,
I said I’m blushing, my lovers kiss.
My bed is my lover
And it’s fibers their tongue.
Love is a four letter word
And for me they’ve always switched places with pain.

Nobody knows this but
A crab lives on my throat
He makes out with the octopus in my chest at noon,
That’s when Pappa treats me so unwell
When I indulge in poems and paintwells.
He doesn’t know there’s masterpiece waiting in my heart
And I’ve done the sin of letting a crab love an octopus and
This sin I won’t confess.

But Pappa isn’t the only one
Who treats me so unwell.
My psychedelic dreams does that to me as well.
I once saw apparitions of my poetry
Which looked like a ghost tower
Screaming on my naked ears
‘write me’ ‘write me’
I didn’t listen, paralysed legs.
That day is the day poetry left me
For I wedded a dream.



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I sometimes feel your fingernails digging deep into my scars, as if to claw out the darkness inside and to find it’s roots, then root it out and plant orange zinnias there with kisses. Sometimes it’s just a soft touch at the nape of my neck, where I’ve hidden the last of my innocence. So very innocent like a child with only two teeth. I hope you never find that child.

You have always known that my heart is a sparrow trapped in an abandoned tower, who knows the tower way too much, who has studied each and every one of the paintings in it’s wall and is not afraid to spread it’s wings and touch, each one of the cracks in those whispering walls and who is painfully waiting for the walls to fall down so that it can escape the tower, which even the dragons has abandoned. But if the tower falls down the sparrow dies. That’s the end.

The only place in my body without scars, is my heart. That is because scars are wounds that are healed and the wounds in my heart still stays afresh, hence there are no scars. And that’s why I never let anyone touch it, not even love. You can claw at my scars as much as you want but not my wounds, because it hurts and I am still alive, therefore I’m afraid you can still hurt me and I’m afraid I might let you. Because love does that to me you see! You don’t believe me, then look at my heart.



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Soulmates die together

I remember reading a poem to you at midnight
Maybe it wasn’t you
Maybe it was just your soul
That escaped your body to come
Listen to me while you
Slept under her veins.
You see I’ve always thought that
Your soul belonged to mine,
But I know your body won’t understand that.
I have always kept my love for you
Underneath the soles of my feet.
People always says that feet are unholy
But love is holy enough.


I married a fish last summer
A red one with scales
We partied in France, wedding night!
Everything went sea shore after that.
A year went by in a sea castle and
For every mistake
His tail flapped my pale cheeks twice and
Gifted my eyes some scaley teeth.
He loved my eyes, pearly divine
Loved them even more when they were red.
We had no kids oh! Bless the Lord for that
But he did chewed on my fingers
Like a baby, at times, right!


In the 14th tower of the castle
Where lust went to die
Where pregnant women gave birth to still born light
Where virgins were the midwives
Who cut the umbilical chord twice or thrice
That is where my soul entwined with yours,
Bitter strong and with all it’s agony.


You loved me once, you loved me twice
Our love was a nun
And our heart a confession room.
Oh! How is it that two people fall out of love
Yet their souls stays a mate.


You pointed your pistol towards my heart
And you counted one to three
One – you loved me once.
Two – our souls entwined.
Three – you fell out of love.


At the pull off the trigger
The bullet went through my heart
And you fell dead.
We are one
We are one
We are one.
You fell out of love with me
But we are one.
And when I die you also does.



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Steam of thoughts

My own breath feels hot to me
As I lay in bed, it’s like
The train that has been running

Through my head is slowly
Releasing it’s steam and
It’s that steam which escapes
Through my nose, burning my lips
While my finger traces it’s ash on paper.

I have white marks all over my body and
Mamma took me to the doctor’s
To show him my marks.
But Mamma could be a racist I think,
Because she cunningly covered up
All the black bruises over my soul.
You show nobody your bruises, she says.
The doctor’s gave me some blue pills
To color my skin back
And said that I should eat the red pills too
So that the blue one works.

I distinctly remember passing in biology
Even though I failed in chemistry,
Physics gave me pain and hurt and
Maths always strangled me with the
Roots of trigonometry. They all burn now and
I can feel the steam coming again
But I hope this time the train takes me
Out of this cave to someplace
Where there is light.



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Mamma brings me sherbet
Every morning
In the color of blood.
They reminds me of the morning
In which I saw actual blood
Corroding and turning black
Underneath her bed, vomitted.
She says he loved her greatly once.
He hit her yesterday too.
There’s dried blood in her broken lips
Like dried red hibiscus.
She won’t kiss me now, (true loves kiss)
She’s scared that I might incur
The same fate as her.
So tell me now,
Does your love also smell of anemic blood
Will I be able to kiss my children
Without being scared of their doom?
Will I be able to give my children
Milk every morning
Or is it sherbet in red?
So tell me now,
Do you love me truly or greatly?



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Clotted graves

As we were talking
Mamma started cutting herself
And through the cuts
She pushed out clotted blood
With the finesse of a snake
Shedding it’s skin.
She then collected the clotted memories
Bloated them with tissues and tears
Stored them in a glass jar and
Kept them aside to be buried later.
She then took me to her grave
To bury the clotted blood.
By then her scars healed and her skin sealed.
Next to her blood filled grave
She kept her bag and said
This is your place, next to mine
Just for you to bury your clotted blood.
Before me it was her grandma’s said she.
She then handed me the pink bag
With white polkadots and asked me
To fill the bag with soil,
From above my grave.
Then she said,
One part water, three part soil,
Mix it and apply it at night,
When you start cutting yourself
And remember don’t do it
In the presence of anyone except your daughters
Because these graves are just for them.


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