Scribble doodle

When i am awake
(again)
there really is no one to stay awake for.
It's far too late in the night
Mamu snores between her asthmatic wheezing.
The night is still without rain
and therefore sound,
as though it's waiting with me
for another season.

And to put myself to sleep,
i try to think of a leaf i once drew at 6--
it's midrib as thick as an artery.
Then, drawings were a way of examining
your curiosity and fear on paper
So at 36, i take to them again

An imaginary dog by Tiku Gauchan

This one squirms
And squeezes through
The crinkled hedge
Of my dream.
Lays her head
At my feet,
Which are two tiny lakes,
Inside whose depths
Are fish
Whose flicking tails
Are the remnants
Of some childhood.
Hers. Mine. Guiltless.
Like that.

temptation

The night turns into a blanket
of longing
when you stand half a feet away
and suggest every possibility
of possibilities-- between
your feet and mine

siloloquy

there is always a time in life when you feel like everything is crumbling down
now is that time in mine
but
this too shall pass

fumes

and i heard they rose
from the rubble of an old house,
stacked somewhere in an alleyway
in old kathmandu.
and they were called dreams.

under the sky

all i want to do some nights is wrap myself up and think about wide wide green fields where there is nothing to worry about. not even houses.

can't write

Germie says she can't write. I can't, either. It's the only thing I'm incapable of doing. I can do everything else: sulk, yell at people, worry, weep, stay awake all night, thinking of impossibilities in life then wake up in the morning, wondering how I am to get out of bed.
I can do everything else.