so much is enough

the way you look at me
as the safa tempo pulls away-

perched on the seat,
leaning half out
to catch a glimpse of me

fog

there's something so beautiful about these foggy January mornings

just the immediate buildings stand out in silhouette. rest is covered in the dense white. even the squalor looks clean on mornings like these

finally

i have my cup of coffee.
and the man i hate is playing some good music.
and sitting next to him this morning, i was reminded of the time i loved him instead of hate.
so maybe he's still my friend in a way. the friend i love to hate.

epiphany

****************************************************
in the tiniest photo fame that appeared out of nowhere, i fixed my passport size photograph, taken just before the trial. mamu thought it looked very neat. then i told her something that didn't make her very happy. my objective behind putting it up- i realized, if i met sudden death, i wouldn't want them to put up just any photo for the samvedhana. i'd like to look nice there. there are things related to death, that i hope will be my way. for instance, i hope i'm wearing my favourite lingerie and my favourite Woodland's moccasins, when that happens. i hope there isn't any rain. and i hope they won't leave me at Pashupati but feed me to the animals or something. maybe the zoo. Zawlakhel zoo is in pretty bad shape. the animals there need moving. maybe my flesh will instill a little anger in them and they will rebel.
i'm angry. at several things.
right now, at having to get up at 4 in the morning and ride to work next to the man i loathe.
therefore, this morbid post
*****************************************************

so,

coffee
it is again
that i drink
with
so much lust

water

i thought
water
this morning

first
the kind
i drink
out of my mug
-warm

then
the kind
that washes away
-warmth and all

(in the shower
parts that were violated)

(at the kitchen sink
concealed wounds)

[in the rain
reincarnation]

the trial

so
they return
in little sacks
gathering dust

blankets
mirrors
bed-side lamps
furniture
kitchenware
thongs
a used bar of soap

no books

memories
wrapped
in sniffles, sobs
scratches and bites
that knocked down walls of confidence

they come back
in sacks full of rags and fragments