your eyes. 

I have been unreachable

* * *

Unravelling the hoods of your eyes

Those fragile, thin, vein sprinkled scrolls

delicately adorned with ancient scriptures

I have spent years in deciphering

Unravelling the hoods of your eyes

That appear to have been woven

By studious hands dwelling in mountainous habitats

Selfless hours of labour

Unravelling the hoods of your eyes

Those cold, sharp tools of deliverance

never failing to undo all that they gaze upon

I have denied their intentions

Of wanting to consume me

Yet whenever

you blink

I am eaten 

what should I be? 

Lost, floating, here I try to 

Stand, to, validate, the reasons 

Behind, this day – what led me to this day – 

Led me to, believing or rather 

Not believing, in what this flesh can 

Amount to – should it amount to? 

I am, here again, not aware

Weary, not quite there 

But completely, wholly, pushing for 

More, I thought I had 

Done more, thought I had, 

?

What happened there 

Here I go 

Lost 

Again 

arabella. 

Cruising with these fluorescent shapes

Swaying side to side with mechanical precision 

I ride these miles in a faultless pursuit to your eroding door 

Long for more 

Comparing my life’s worth to the skill with which I can roll tobacco

And to those fading feature films of romance reminiscent of brilliant you 

As you manipulate strings and axons in your mind 

As you toy with drugs and toy with time

Long for more 

Bones do not hold me together, tis the thought of you my pale wonder 

Cascading through each ventricle all grey matter taken under 

You you you 

Come by each moment

You you you

Come by each moment 

Come by some more 

alas, I am here 

At your door

kahaani. 

Yeh duniyaan ek kahaani rejani 

~this world will remain but a story~

We view the surface when 

Troubled waters still sing unheard, unseen 

Tickling the belly of the beasts

Who would rather chew us and spit us 

~there is no care for the masses~

We are never questioning, beckoning 

For provocation 

We are remaining content 

We are prolonging a cycle 

We are casting our nets 

For personal profits 

Tossing and turning 

Nurturing bad habits

Forever gambling 

Self health, self awareness 

For wider reaches 

For chunks of liability 

That will not remain ours

That was never ours 

The tides are coming. The tides are coming. 

Let’s unsettle the waters, let’s dictate this wave

To wash our blind eyes, uncover the lies 

To recover the time, to recover the day

And to make this a story deserved to be read. 

my lover does not love. 

My lover does not love 

In exponential words 

Nor does he liken me to the stars

Which he seldom observes

Dreary days discreetly passing 

My lover brings home his worth 

In papers bluey green

In hands stained red, calloused 

And I remain constantly in this spot; 

caught in the light and dark of him. 

There is no other truth I would rather see, 

There are no other loves I would care to believe. 

Caught here by the rays of his changing lights, 

I tiptoe, dance around his mind 

And he follows with his laughter, his surprise 

To see me so content in him. 

Our weights and measures, 

our warmest endeavours

Our ploys and leisures 

Our discreet treasures 

– these scales do not always tip in our favour – 

these scales do not always balance the view.

But we stand still. 

We stand – 

And I am a palette of all his words

I am a garnish over his tongue. 

I am that unearthed bilingual sense

that he never knew he had learned. 

My lover does not love 

In exponential words 

We are what we have chosen 

And four years gone, choose not to return. 

cogs. 

“We are cogs in the great machine”

(He whispered, trailing my thighs with his smile)

“We are churning right to our seams”

(He persists, anchoring me toward his core) 

“We are becoming the pessimists that we – 

Oh how we all scampered from”.

* * * 

I can see it in his eyes, the ghosts from wars long won. 

It will never be compromise enough 

that he had not fallen. 

And

In this life’s divinations 

There are no revelations 

Yet we reach to tabloid papers biblically 

For those horoscopes scripted “logically”

Reaching to such false entities 

We chant –

Something good is sure to come!

Months and months and wage and wage 

No power to stifle the endless game 

And so on 

And so on

So on…

* * * 

“We are cogs in the great machine” 

His voice resonates so clearly now 

The dread of it all, felt almost familiar 

As though it had shrouded me my entire existence 

As familial as a lullaby 

But alas – a murmur 

A beating in my chest moves me

He looks at me, waiting 

I reply, 

We are cogs in the great machine, 

that I have 

the hands 

to 

switch

off.