Sketches Of Grief

my mother yelled at me for not ferrying
a pain to trace my grief on her body,

I was waiting in the wings for the night
to darken the skies, revering her thoughts

and then sketching different names
of grief on her body.

I wrote every line of torture on her skin,
chanting the elegies of my father into her eardrums.

I strive to fetch hope from the memories written on our wall,
but my eyes shift into a room of burnt onions,

and my tongue fled in search of voices
submerged into my father's throat.

every morning, I gulp down depression
from a cupful of tears, set down

and goggle my heart bleed gloomy verses
to the world.

yesterday, I trudge on the highway
and discerned someone,

saying;

you either shed your emotions in the air
& become a poet

or else you die a coward.

someday, you would hear the story
of a boy who moulded his emotions
into a poem,

& throw his heart into a flower pot.



Dark Days

when dark days creeps,
we saw a strand of hair
on our skin, dashing away.

we watched our bodies
become tissue papers,
our cracking lips
giving up to its doom,
as we felt the slight change
of beats in our hearts.

when the moon 
embraces the darkness,
stuck stars glitter no more,
as the songs of peace echo not,
and birds with broken wings
find not their way home.