Peripheral I

walking down the path
exploring the stoned pavement
clinking of my boots underneath
tingled with my breath

the night is vast and the sky vaster
as I move along; trying to know the streets
near my temporary home
as if I am sewed on them as buttons

passing a bus stop a blonde beauty with
her phone on and a man suddenly says
“five minutes” to me and I just move along
not letting him ruin my sense of liberation
that straddles my lungs and makes me feel
one with omnipresent strings and stabilities

reaching a lane that only goes down to
liquor stores and convenience shops
where cars slope down hills and adjacent
is a island like a park with few people trodding
it is not past midnight; hardly evening,
but this part of the world knows winter
as a solace of the hearth; warm meals and
lustful covers and perhaps the odd shift
looking onwards — with its half hilly and
urban scape everything — Leeds is breathtaking.

when I walk back home I know I will receive a call
from Mom past so many miles and seas
asking me if I have eaten and asking me
why my usual routine was overturned
and I can tell her of my boots clicking on stone
and me nibbling a quiet dinner by myself
thinking of her and others; heater on
and forgetting if a moon had been out
walking with me as well.—

*feels like a companion piece to Mari’s You Within

chasm diegesis

there was a chasm of loneliness
and it bore my name
and I decided to fill it with tears
hoping to reach the surface

only sorrow did not quench that thirst
and my tears had to be hope bound
for what is sorrow if not a testament
to hope? We will meet unfairness and injustice
that is how human systems work
but the meta of you was designed not
to follow that rule. Believe in God or believe in greater dimensions
that supersede what holds the matter and makes you closer
to the holy

I managed to make my chasm a ocean
I made it into something fertile
for only I lived this life
and I know it held meaning
slings and bows now serve my soldiers.—

classical antagonism

nothing seems to be more caustic
than the ignorance of being ignored
and the indifference to the genuine
the practice of selective empathy
that has the negative zeal of selfishness
the mistaken selves on the shelves
of some codified, communal and coefficient categorisations
that a human moulds to serve themselves

was I never good enough for you?
was I never a good friend for you?
did I not talk to you when no one would?
did I not give you time and also befriended
your sorrows as my own?
and took your phantoms seriously?

why did you whisper sweet nothings in my ear?

it is hard to gain the respect of someone
who didn’t know what was the denotation of love
and the connotations of the affection
that lay between my chest

I palpitate
but grief should not be my second sun

for the indifference in you
highlights my love
and the nth power of my being
knows that what I did was infinite.—

telemetry of a fighter

rustling in the hands of my fate
as they wash themselves
I am tethered to the soap and I cling to the skin

never letting myself be washed away
the cells of me intermixing with the cells
of destiny; a bath of serene calmness
each ridge of bone, map coordinates to fixate on
as I embellish and write the x and y axis
thinking of the m slopes on the way

the vertigo of finding some new integers
as my skin manifests the glow
I am naked with muscle
and my fists ball up
forcing me to sway into battle

I only go down when I know the end means me
charting off to a new chapter
for fighting for me
is the telemetry of my bones
lining up to receive the blood and flesh
of my organ sounding triumph.—

papery intuition

a shadow etches my name
writing it as though it was inked by the sun
and slivered by the moon; even its darkest quotients
and craters edging like a spine of a assembling book

a river like a styx makes memory easier to remember
with the fear of forgetting; my life uneventful
still a source of some esoterica — how the soul
writes its own meanings; it’s own footnotes
that the tongue caught but could not spell
and the bibliography grafted on angel wings

making my lunar self catch the singed fingers of my
solar silhouette — chasing each other in the cosmos
knowing the insights of being lost stitched to fate
and destiny the dental cast that stays
when you are paper for the leaves to read.—

instrumental independance

tampered into a bow and string
my body became like that instrument
only thing was I was also the arrow
boomeranging on and off

never the passive fully
never the aggressor fully
I knew my glass was half empty and half full
I was insulation but also catalyst

my fusion requires nothing but love
of the dysfunctional self without the matter of arrogance
pride and dignity in intersects humbleness
a balanced equation; a revolving spirit

what is about math? the value of the prime that becomes
both example and ordinary? — bivalent like the human condition

I cuddle my bones as I embrace my beating heart
that told all tales and bit the vampire
for the blood of life does not not fear the undead.—

survival of the fittest-frailest

caught in a light sneeze as the amour mentioned
caught in the gale of my breathing
you mouthed the syntax of my name
and the blade of my passive movements
and the language of my kinetic flickerings

made 90° angles with my vigour
and the whole larynx tasted it
you cannot feed on me
without knowing I am poltergeist in you
drying you hollow — you cannot make me perish
without hyphenating yourself

we are bodies before flesh
stitching the patchworks of us
each blood drop and vessel
monitored by the masts of our own voyages
seeing me on my odysseys
and my pilgrimage of blood and water
as my networks pulse and dry

with my obsidian eyes looking at a grey flag
we must know the harshness of the desert
before we savour on the cup of the oasis.—