Mamu

This is my favourite photo of Mamu. It's very her-- curious, happy in nature, easily blown away by the beauty of trees, clouds, rain and plants. Always in love with the world. Mamu, a child.
 

Chhori

 

Four months have gone by. 

I no longer wake up hoping it is her I will wake up to. But the heaviness that came upon me in the days right after losing her stays with me. I wake up with a heaviness, which no longer looks for her familiar face around the house. 

I walk up to her portrait once a day and say hi, like she would hear me. She doesn't. But there's a feeble hope in seeking permanence. In that hope is the longing to put my arms around her again and to say thank you for all the love I received. Only, now I can't.

You know how we keep hoping to find love? I had hoped for it all my life without knowing I had all the love I deserved right in front of me in the form of this girl. And she loved me-- tenderly, fiercely. sometimes with irritation and anger, but she loved me.

I no longer know how to write about anything because I don't know how to write about her. This one, who I have loved the most.

own ether

i heard

I heard you were seen hanging out with a very young woman in Basantapur. I wonder who.

I wonder how your face must have looked in the warmth of the evening sun as you walked alongside the young face, discussing philosophy and talking mysteries. I wonder if there’s gray on your face now, or other signs of aging. I wonder what takes you out of your cubicle where you sit, observing the world and battling it like a keyboard warrior. You once said one could destroy the world like that.

I wonder what it might be like if I had been there in your stead, walking alongside a younger man. Walking, talking about everything perhaps or just standing in silence. I wonder what they’d say about a woman like me with ‘loose morals’. A cougar. 

What could a woman like me say about morality? I wonder what a man like you would say about cloistered virtues. A man like you who believes in morality and nothing. Unlike a woman like me who believes in nothing and everything that is immoral. 

to the cockles of your heart

When we get to the part 

where we fight

I’m not up in arms 

But I close.  And

like cactus 

grow my defenses, as I turn into 

 liquid within.

And there really is nothing of us.

Because we/are me.

We are 

everything my mind has grown.

We are us:

fluid. Fighting shy of your nihilism. 

flicker

keep me with thee