The death across the shore

Dear Kitipisi,

There is a world of difference made when a woman dies. When she leaves us, there is so much more than her self that she sheds. Not all of it decays or decomposes. It is all the struggles, all the patterns she made and has encountered, a legacy that suddenly appears, and then disappears into oblivion. Every part of her degenerates something in me. It is strange, that through the festival of reincarnations and births, of women and of awakenings, of timeless strength , intuition, art and insights, I have been thinking about death. As i gaze up at the sky, it is no longer the setting sun that meets my eye; but the horizon that some of us might never meet. In your absence, I am reminded that I was never really the one for equal rights; and that in a generation that has lost so much and is yet losing more by the day, I never thought I had the confidence to firmly stand up for anything. Before you attempted to struggle for your freedom, I know not what you ate, how long you slept, or even how you moved on. I have been thinking a lot about death lately, but i did not assume that our separation would leave in this deep a pit of uncertainty. I know not, who will love us now, but when you were alive, i knew i had never expressed my feelings towards you. As deeply as I regret that, I hope I am able to weave those patterns together to the world (i will speak to the world someday, somehow). I hope I carry your frame of ambition in my blood regardless of whether i opt for motherhood. I hope, in my individual capacity, no other woman feels unloved.

I’m particularly worried about Mother as she must be lonely, and we know how it can be only too well. Like me, she has no certainty how long she will be loved and by whom. And the patterns i want to carry forward are something only the three of us could understand. With all the love of a maternal grandmother, as I never saw much of mine, you have taught us a great deal- although i’m yet to figure out- about what. Let my existence be an embodiment of the irresolute, stalwart women I discover- even if not for real.

Until then, my poetry shall never meet my insanity. Hope to hear from you soon.


Your granddaughter


A mysterious ode

Every person goes through unique struggles that they deal with, willingly or unwillingly, and the pattern of thought and action cycle that each forms, knowingly or unknowingly, to get through. And it changes us. It changes us for an eternity, it also deepens our senses infinitely. I wouldn’t have known some fundamental values i now live by, had it not been for my past. The past has it all, my memories, my knowledge, my identity, my love and my ability to love, my ability to break into a million pieces within, whether as an explosion or a fall…

The great, great times of torture shape us. And also take back a lot from us. It’s been a month and I’ve been introduced to many relics of the tough times I’ve been through (approximately two years), and wondering what it’s like to revisit the past. No, I’m not a traveler. Or a historian. Although never out of controversies, I’m just someone who loves finding ways to fall in trouble.

Things, dear readers, have been bizarre lately and I don’t know if it’s a time machine, but somehow I’m reliving those two years. The difference being that I haven’t forgotten my present self, so it’s a new journey for discovery altogether. My upcoming few posts shall try to explain what’s going on, hopefully. Because I’m not very good at explaining things to myself, let alone others :p



The hours of blue

I will wait for you till the day I can forget you or till the day you realize you cannot forget me” – Herryicm. Sometimes, holding on takes its place as letting go. The emphasis shall however, always be on the latter part for the sake of well being.

…and wherever i go, my mind

Will always find ways to

Go back  to you;

Through little excuses, hallucinations, memories

Melodies with sad, deep meanings

And evenings that end in beautiful nights.

The scars on the moon just somehow etch your face

No matter how much rationality tried to

Wipe you off my conscience,

I shall bring you back

I still silently sacrifice peaceful dusks

Remembering what was, and never could be

Still imagine you sitting next to me through the night,

The many ways in which time could eventually make you mine

Eventually unfolding the destiny that faded into dust..

Yet, i gaze at the stars, the flooding ocean of happiness

They say, i’m fixated, but

These dreams of you are my only way out,

Call it denial, but i have found love again

Through bursting beads singing songs of desire at nights

Under the phantom gaze of the sky.

As i fall for you

Over and over again.

On beauty

I could be my most beautiful when

I’m garlanded by thoughts;

That they stare out of my eyes, the windows that allow escape,

They run down the length of my hair, left untied, cascading like winter dawns;

They gape at the sky from my mouth as I exclaim at the stars, the newly

Awakened curiosity.

I will be truly beautiful if I could wear the universe across my shoulders like a veil that surrounds and dominates

My individuality.

When I dance with glee at my insignificance and vastness

Existing peacefully together,

Embrace who I am, not regretting

The faults that make me who I am till this day,

For my flaws have made me more of myself than

The virtues I’ve put on, like a mannequin.

Satin dresses trimmed with pearls and sequins

If I could smile a little,

Know where I am.

Be modest,

Yet look into your eyes and be honest.

Be effulgent

Like a child’s imagination

And unaffected like sleep.

I’ll be beautiful when

I stop trying to remember what exactly beauty is,

For beauty is never exact.

It’s not in precision,

But abstraction,

Not in perfection

But mere goodness


who’ll help me fly,

find my lost wings?

will another sun rise, one more breath

help me live again?

i won’t need armor, just my lost strength,

who’ll bring me out of darkness,

to perceive the light again?

if i do at all, where will i rise again,

will there be enough sand beneath my feet, and if i fall

will i stand again?

Here and then

Exactly three years ago, I started this blog. This post is not about that though


I am my old cave.

Dig deeper, beyond one’s mind, enticing diamonds

That take human forms, glimpsing,


It is here that the earth was still and Heaven deep inside,

And now the only diamond in your words which in my throat

I hide.

You and me, side by side,

giggling. and now this rotting cave

this old skin, this fatigued heart, this burdened mind

This cave, my infinite void.

That real diamonds don’t break , even if hammered a thousand times.

But on this iron heart, your blood runs dry.

Now return me my diamonds

Return me those days when here I laughed with you,

Buried my face in your palms;

Sing to me your envy when I speak of your loss,

Explain me the volatility of love;

And its depth.


Love is free; hate cost everything.

Behind the broken walls identified by their blood stains,

In a world torn apart by war and hate,

they still pray, they love,

they sacrifice, and feel the strength

That is required to go on, from within,

Knowing, that love for others has its price,

Knowing, that love itself is a price;

And the hate that looms over this world,

That the one God

makes all bow down to humanity,

The strangeness

the loneliness

the novelty

blood stains on fingers and hushed mouths that whisper fear

but in the eyes,

the familiar hope of retrieval.

Perhaps what we consider as dead

is just as given as the void

that constantly reminds us how insignificant we are.