Pastel Planet

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Oh green, you fill the air I breathe;
So wet, and alive, your form.

Oh blue, that fills the grounds below,
how alive you keep its brown.

Oh white above, how wide you reach,
how warm, your cold embrace.

On a summer morn,
I feel the winter chill

In the sun,
I feel the moon.

Oh Earth, so bountiful,
yet reserved, and without–
care and love,
from all beings down here.

I’ll bring you healing,
and help us grow–
old together,
in days of yore.

Amidst Dinosaurs

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LGBT / Valentines in Blue

I bathed my body, in Holy Basil, and Lavender,
on the day that you arrived.
I laid, on the path to my body, and mind,
cobbled stones, and holy incense,
to rich the air about it, thus–
with splendor, and with charm.

I sanctified this body,
I sanctified my moon,
not to cleanse it for a lover,
but to bring it to commune–
with the spirit, and the heart,
thus, to cleanse it from itself;
I cried into its soil,
to save it from its hell. Read More

Golden Boys

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Valentines in Blue

T’was a queer, sort of hook-up,
t’was your lips that tried to shut me up,
t’was your nervousness that broke the silence in the air,
t’was your trembling of which I was aware.

“Did I disappoint you?” you asked me, doe-eyed boy.
“You didn’t” I sped to reply.

Yet, two days from when,
if you’d have asked me then,
I’d reply, that indeed you had. Read More

Glass House

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Black / Shorts

Glass, I live atop glass.
On a hill of silent waiting,
and years of lonely dark.

Where not a sound within does part,
from the neck of the proud,
yet humble young lark.

Flames, I live amidst flames.
Where the fires, they burn,
all traces of age.

And not one corner,
ceases to show me my face;
and how these  damaged tears,
have etched grooves on its base. Read More

He :: Menagerie

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LGBT / Mind Matter / Self-help / White

I cannot tell you what he looked like,
or what he liked to eat.
I cannot tell you what he smelled like,
or if he was effete.

I cannot tell you his name or age,
when he laid down to die;

Because he is not one, but many,
bodies laid here to edify–
their presence in the human race;
his presence, to sanctify.

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Pandering To A More Basic Guilt

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Black / Shorts

The irony was lost to him,
of complaining of polluted skies,
when the remains of burning plant matter left his lungs.

You are the victim and the perpetrator,
to the crimes that you cry wolf to.

You are the God of your own anguish,
Mothered by pain, and your reluctance to change.
Fathered by the passing of time, that makes you realize­–
your own mortality.

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Kathua: A Saffron Killing

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Black / Mind Matter / Shorts

There is an emotion making its way up my throat.
An emotion that has been excited by yet another case of brutality, in this land I call my home.

It isn’t fear;
I know, because I experienced fear, the first time an extremist joked about having me killed for being gay,
I experienced fear then; although my mouth inched into a laugh.
This isn’t that.

It isn’t shame,
I know, because I’ve experienced shame in calling myself an Indian when I was first introduced to the lies that this country hides away in the name of ‘peace’.
I experienced shame then; although I stood and sang the national anthem, knowing full-well that my heart was not invested, and neither was my mind.
This isn’t that.

It isn’t anger,
I know, because I’ve experienced anger when Narendra took the centre stage and turned the helm of this already sinking country toward his own ideal of ‘Hindustan’.
I experienced anger then; when he stood idly by at the lynching of members from other communities, and the threats his goons sent out, knowing that dissent then was unwise if I wished safety for myself.
This isn’t that.

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