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

palm of a blue giant

a blue giant branched out in my palm
feeling me the force of love
pulsating in the corners of my smile
universalising my cure to frailty

each page then resounded a letter
that was me in the finest form
filled with peccadilloes but also purities
and the horse did not come to bring apocalypse
of a degeneration but a prince who was I
fighting with my sword and scimitar

an oasis branched out in my iris
a solar system of planets and stars
in the constellations of my all my deeds done
and all deeds to come
finding that I was bracketed as the moon
with the definition of suns

I glow because my luminosity
is the only one who I can proudly state was me.—

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.—

silver skulled beast

a silver mouth I wear and a silver mouth encircles me
positively foreign; positively native
a common tongue we speak

a kiss that caught on fire
then melded with an ocean
a foam that broke the shell
and the fragments that became tears

metamorphoses
each cascade on my elbows and calves
kinetic energy; ATP following its path
and my spine polished brighter than ivory
for the blood that clings

rawness is me
flushed are my cheeks
not some decadent shyness
or some tardy aggression
but a fusion of both
my whalebone clavicle
and the geyser of the hearts

prickling on my skin
if you won’t want the animal in me
you cannot merely understand the human.—

dichotomies on the move

you cusp me but I was already a cusp
my poison and pleasure all corroded and rusted
like a knight’s sword and shelter
an ambiguous sex that travels alone
with breasts hidden and chalice overturned
ripe as the green and an anomaly within some neo-structure
what is theory without practice? And, what is hypothesis without the daydream?
The lamb who sits with the lion is the predator; strangle the claws with sheers of clouds
sky meets earth; the tiger needs the night and the day
and I always thought the dichotomy in me
was a hybrid who ionised and deflected when needed
after all magnets know the method so does the madness
leaning on the serenity if iron; meteoric as I traverse the rainbow
storm meets heaven and nirvana meets the moss.—

a female’s tale

I suppose I will be understood — when I die?
that death be my proof seems such a simple thing
a cliche, a blinding light which has no priority: no proprioception.
I am not going to die, soon, if I am going to die at all
it is a stupid thing to make immortal the person who has no mortality
denying them their temporality is denying them the identity to live

so, I will not die today or tomorrow, or the day after, if I am able to hope so
— I will torture you with life, with my life, the life that you wish to deny me
I will live with, with my sins, blessings, regrets and asking my God for forgiveness
I will live it when I exhale and inhale, when I wear a burqa or a miniskirt to chide you
for trying to shame me for my veil and legs — for in each I brought the beauty of living
which you wanted to deny me — by a choker of silence, no fetish I gave consent to
no sexualisation I gave consent you. I am sexual in my billowy robes; modest as I bare my legs: my lips and eyes will insinuate life which you tried to martyr me for with the helm of the shirt, with the housework I will do and you will never give me credit for and the children I will raise but will respect you more and the precipice of my tongue wanting release — a smarting, shattering, constructing orgasm which you feel you will deny me and I am a slut to want for more.

You are the slut for being scared of me — scared of all that I can achieve and all that I am more — when I wore the apron to shine the bannisters or cook the food I am still a soldier battling as an architect, close to godliness, close to the apex of a trinity: soldier, sage and stable revolutionary with all the vices and virtues you needed and more. I am the same when I wear my shoes; those minimum pumps required by corporate to stand in toe in height with men; or, many a times look taller and deadlier than them anyway.  What they think is the erection of the tower of their own bones, so amazing right, just is an ivory tower of height not the tusk of the mammoth, or elephant, not the planetary audience — when I wear the proper shoes to school but fail because I am nice — because you wanted me to be but wanted a coquette too which I could not be and shamed me the once in a blue moon grades I got because you were afraid to admit you underestimated me. That I was out of your league.

My lips be nude or doused with rogue — or doused with the flames of gasoline fuel I will not die today, by immolation, by spears, stones, guillotine or bullets, or you choose to efface me day in and day out like acid rain on the face of what you think are statues. I will not die today of ennui, of boredom, of lack of recognition — I have my cognition, my gears, my sword, my stones, my glass shoe that I sharpened to my spear and I have the hijab, the nude hair, the scarf, the nun’s habit, the shaved head, the colour blue and the habit to be relentless in my bones and marrow. My flesh may have been born from a rib that means I can be you and more. That was the lesson you should have learned when you swallowed the fruit with me. I am poison. I am potion. I am elixir. I can be edenic in the core. I am a rampaging beast but I also show the compassion of brotherhood and sisterhood. I am XX. I am what some call woman. I am mostly female. I write the laws of the feminine. Not you. Queer or straight. Religious or secular. I am irreplaceable. I am the rib you need and the fruit you will want to swallow. I can kill the serpent, the trickstar. Both the sinner and the saint. I will not die today. I live in everything in the ether.