I have written a new series of poems, five short pieces (mostly on love) to be read over coffee, on the train, in between things.
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things there should be songs about
trying to hold hands. on Sunday afternoons, cotton dupattas drying in the balcony. mornings dyed with indigo and mist. raindrops on car windows. old songs in wallpapered taxis. old wallpapered taxis. softly singing with the music. yellow pink blue balloons at the traffic light. goodbyes that end with see me again.
I have been working on a really fun project this month and I am so excited to finally share it!
Poems for Everyday Use is a series of poems about ordinary, everyday life. The project traces the course of one day, from morning to midnight, with poems about home, food, flowers and other simple memories. I don’t write enough poetry anymore, so this is an effort to create more of it. I have collaborated with some beautiful artists and I am very excited to share their work with mine!
I’ll be sharing the series on my Instagram, come read and spread the love:
I think we learned to name cities
before we had actually seen them,
Small French and English towns
states in other continents
islands peppered along the seas,
We learnt to hold them on our tongues
before we could be there
smell their air
hear the chatter in cheap street-side cafes
with red and white checkered tablecloths,
Walk their cobblestoned roads
and feel the sun shine
in a hundred different ways,
We once had the map
a hodgepodge of words in our mind
like the mush on a party plate
and that was enough.
I am wearing my swimsuit
but my skin gathers
like fat jelly under my arms
My hair’s dry
in this coastal air
and you can see the fish-skin
scaling my winter legs
I look at them and check
do I have frog-webbed feet?
My back is speckled
with spots from a coral bed
So I run into the sea
and swim,
A brown wave
In the blue waves, waves, waves.
You know what I miss?
I miss mango ice cream
the real kind
slick yellow layers
pasted by hand
one on top of the other
until thick
the sweet mango flavour
tasted like the insides of the fruit
a smooth scoop
wrapped around a surprise
of cold, white cream.
The sky is fading
Like a blue cotton shirt
Rolled in whirlpools
Of soap and foam
Still carrying that jasmine smell
Of detergent,
Hanging on a clothesline
Now drying into shape
A mid-afternoon lullaby
Of cool breeze.
a friendship of pets
a sprinkling of clouds
a pond of stars
one pink of flamingoes
family of strangers
and cities of passengers
on a local train
storeys of cities
piled like a building
of banana pancakes
1. the green of leaves just after rain
2. the green of a muddy pond where lotuses bloom at night
3. the fading green of mangoes that make the best sour candy, pickles, chutney
4. the colour of sky on a road with no street lights
5. seaweed deep under water, curling around your toes where sand mixes with water, only to be found later in a hotel bathtub
I have half memories
of us as kids
and I am not too sure
if this is how it was
you tell me we shared a swing
when I was younger
small enough
to fit between your knees
standing behind the water tank
quiet and still
you and a shadow
in a hide-and-seek game
when we played House
your kitchen
always had jars full of sugar
and I was at your door
every two minutes
I remember sounds
cold feet on a marble floor
running away together,
someone pouring Bournvita
into a pink mug,
a smaller white cup
I think it was you
who showed me my first globe
see? this is how all oceans and land folds
around the curves of your fingers
I like thinking
of my childhood as ours
holding half our memories
like too many Gems-coloured playballs
knowing you have
the other half.
The Conundrum 