Note: The poem is loosely inspired by "Reverse Hanahaki" - a fictional illness from Japanese lore in which a person who does not return someone’s love begins to cough up flower petals. My heart was being ripped wide openseeing you cough flower petalsroses, chrysanthemums, dahliasin stalks, tufts and clusters,larger and wider than before.you looked ghostly… Continue reading Lethal Petals
You spoke of an isolated piece of land surrounded by still waters; pale white doors chiseled into the remains of a rocky outcrop
What can I possibly say to myself in 5 years? I don’t even know where I’m going to live! I left home at 18 and have moved ever since. At present, I do not feel at home anywhere. Clouded by anxiety and the state of the world, I do not know if I will ever find stability – my home and tribe. I hope I do; and this yearning made up the first section of my letter.
soundly, she sleeps beneath the glinting moon, amidst the changing forms of golden sand-dunes.
I resisted the loosening of the soil, the sudden drop in temperature, and the disappearance of fissures that give me character.
eerily, the thick darkness melds into brilliant light, blending truth and doubt in lines painted wide.
A simple poetry attempt after a while.
We connected strongly over our love of travel; captured in films and preserved in memory; rose gardens, green meadows, fluorescent seas - the many aromas of a lively summer floating with the breeze.
A phantom in cold flesh and blood - this frail body, a stranger to my soul; thousand feet under a bottomless void, there is no remedy to make me whole.
They say that the old psychiatric ward for special children, located around 40 mins by train from Kolkata, is haunted. Slashed barbed wire, overgrown moss, a stale damp odor kept all visitors - the curious and the skeptical, away from its vicinity. The families who had their children in the ward were shunned from society… Continue reading Harun, Are We Still Friends?
