Monsoon's Kathmandu at 5 am

I always wonder how this city would be without concrete 

to see you smile

what is this thing
that builds a lilt
within me,
like it were hope?

With love, for my little S

The moment we opened the door, all kinds of things always stumbled out of your closet. There were always tops, skirts, dresses, fancy bras, thongs, jackets, scarves, belts. Your closet is a girls' paradise. And it's what we did year after year-- brought them all down, folded them neatly and stacked them in. It was me who did that. You would lie on your side and talk to me, watch me at the ritual and punctuate the folding with laughter and quiet thoughts spoken out loud.

In my head, the sun is always at afternoon in your room. The curtains billow in the breeze, like they were on the top of a ship set to sail. Your walls have seen my tears fall. Your pillows have soaked them in. And your arms have held me just right when I wept over men who broke my heart and friends who let me down and relatives who didn't understand.

You never asked too many questions. You knew all I needed was some silence.

Today, I'm this roving woman. Forever ready for the road with my overnight kit resting right next to my laptop. From Johnson's baby cream of our teenage days, I've switched to anti-ageing stuff. From Dove conditioner I've turned to colour-protect.

Yet, every time I walk into what is your abandoned room now, the dresser yawns at me with the mugs I bought you over the years. It's as though it's one of those lazy afternoons when you were here with me.

There's also a half-used bottle of perfume we fought over. But did you know that between sisters, fights are bonds? They are a way of knowing we're not ashamed of the terrible people we can be sometimes. And that whoever we are, with sisters, we're just ourselves. Always.

sad things and a whine

why does this world make me so sad?

caged goats
wounded dogs
hens hung upside down
stray bulls
cows with damlos around their neck
donkeys with crescent backs

like my favourite poet says:
the world is one big heartbreak

my margin

you'd once asked me-
 what is it like to live in the margin?

 what do you mean?
 - i asked

  hadn't realized
  where i was standing
  was space you would never step into

whose Phoenix?

why is it
that you're always rising from my ashes?

isn't it enough
that i die with you everyday? 

just

Why do we turn the pages backward when we know there's so much tripping and stumbling over all the faces we've kissed, voices we've clung to and smiles we've smiled back at?