you drove past me

i saw you drive past me. your beard was longer. your glasses the same. you hunched over the wheel. i hoped you were happy going wherever you were going. we were headed in opposite directions. 

night

night opens and shuts

like a warm generous mouth

i slip in 

and out again—

it closes

ive had a taste of the supple

the dark

the blankless, that is a street with building blocks 

and the whirring sounds of fury

the fury circumvents

and comes to a sudden standstill 

then there’s chaos

night has transformed

into an abyss where words get mistaken for signs

here, songs get translated to sirens 

we wade against time to the banks of memory

night was brief 

but real

and so is its reflection 

it has left me coiling back into my foetus self for now

inside it, i retch a little

i writhe

i spread my fists open and grab what light enters space between my fingers

i draw them around me and hold

the night has sucked and let go one more time

i’m floundering in the aftertaste 

of the softness 

its blank has been as generous as a womb every time 

for now, with my fists clenched—

i breathe 

Just a dream

So, this is how the world looks

coming to its end—

molten

ashen

people rush towards it, 

gathering what is theirs and isn’t 

it’s what we’ve always done—

taken away what is ours,

and isn’t

we kneel in the crimson lava 

and on the purple sands.

there’s no other way to say goodbye 

the sunset gleams weary, 

drowning in its own hue:

now purple, 

now a killer fiery ball

you and I run towards it, too,

kneel thigh-deep in ash

and cup it in our palms;

its what we’ve always done— taken

then you attempt to kiss my mouth 

this, 

while the world smelts around us

i’m an image of myself in my mind,

turning away from you for a lone moment.

I want to watch.

everything I know in me of life and creation 

is exploding and crumbling 

outside the window, 

the world is a melting horizon of purple 

and crimson and violet

 and then blue

Sing me to sleep

“I’m going to sleep.”

“It’s funny that one can decide when we want to go to sleep, don’t you think?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I’m so sleepy.”

The sounds of the night turned on then. The crickets screeched. But they were only inside her head. The gecko said its own name thrice, took a break and said it again; five more times. She has never seen the gecko however and has wondered what it might look like, whenever she’s heard the sound.

“Good luck! I hope you see the gecko someday! You will be missed!” Angela had left a note on her desk the day she was leaving. But no luck. She still hadn’t seen one. Only the sound of it calling out to itself, the way one might do on sleepless nights.

wounded walking

I’m a walking wound.
My face— the part that went down on the road crashing, bangs like a soft drum under my skin. It’s a perpetual drumming under my left cheek.
I feel like i have half a face now. the other half is numb. only the throbbing half has any existence. you are if you throb. if you’re numb, you’re invisible.
then there are bruises. my legs. my bottom. i have one bigger side than the other since the accident.
i don’t actually look wounded, but I’m made up of seething sighs right now. 

Ineedtogrowroots

It has started to dawn on me that I have no roots. Not even in Kathmandu, which has always been my home. The older I grow, the harder I find it, to associate with places and things and people. I have begun to feel like what I need to do in life is to let a place grow on me now, so that I can allow roots to grow under me and help me find stability. I haven't been able to grow roots, because all my life, I have run. Mostly from pain, but also from pleasure and love. I've been so afraid of love. I need to unlearn everything and learn. I need to learn to accept love. I need to grow roots.

Time warp

I feel like the Kathmandu in my memory is now imaginary. It is rife with the feelings I have attached to it, most of which is love for you all I left behind when I moved here. But when I see pictures of Kathmandu on the news, it is a bit jarring as I'm reminded again of how much anxiety I experienced because of everything around me. The stray dogs and cows and their suffering. The stress to get to work on time and not be late. The pressure from different people around me to do things or to deliver this and that. This and that. Literally. And I often feel that I was trying to cram so much into my days in Kathmandu, that felt limited. There never seemed to be enough time for anything. But here, I seem to have so much time and no one to meet or to do anything for. My days are usually spread wide across space and time. Space-- which is wide open spaces and pretty skies and beautiful trees. Time-- which is just about punctuating my day with things to do. Much of it is work and that is taken care of. Work has always had its way of taking care of me. I'm allowing it to do that for me right now. I'm working and teaching. And that keeps my mind on its toes. I feel that if this year is taken care of, the next year will find some direction as well. You know how ironic this sounds... people often try to save time, wait to do things within so little time. Here, I don't think of saving time. I have enough time to just sit and stare at the sky, at strangers, do whatever might help me pass my days. Have you ever known this kind of luxury? Have you ever know this kind of a trapping of time? It's like a time warp.