Here’s to you.

Here’s to you.

You walking too tall, smile on your face, sparkle in your eyes.
You starting the year right.
you thinking, this is the one.
This is the one,
it has to be.

Here’s to you.
the back of your ears cushions for all the times you listened
and all the times you should have.

Here’s to you.
You, eyes wide open, baring teeth,
one cheek fuller than the other.
There is a lot left to be said. Left to be done.

Here’s to you.
Never needing to learn.
Never needing to stop.
Never needing to breathe.
Never needing to thank.
lost in a world of supposed to. 
Some things are better left in the moments that have passed. 

Here’s to you, 
Indignant, loud, power in your temple,
in the palm of your hand.
There was is a fire.
Waiting to be tended.
There is hurt.
Waiting to be felt.
There is happiness,
waiting to be explored.

Here’s to you.
Palms still open.
Eyes still sparkling.
Starting the year right.
This is the one,
it has to be.


My Heaven

What might my heaven be?

My heaven would have…laughter.
ringing so loud it dispels the darkness from the most sordid corners of the Earth.
My heaven would be food. All-you-can-eat chocolate. Homemade butter chicken with fat dripping from the naan bread like water droplets
falling to my shoulders
as I shake my head after a swim.
My heaven would be a swimming pool
with just the right temperature of water
so my spindly legs didn’t look like leaves shaking in the fall.
My heaven would be the feeling you get as you stand at the edge of a bungee jump, toying with the safety cables.
It would allow for wondrous curiosity.
My heaven would be the corner of my sofa bed that fits me perfectly, having just the right amount of pillows,
My heaven would have ample leg space.

My heaven would be the badge upon my forehead
declaring my mind the sharpest weapon of all.
My heaven would be finally attaining the level of sarcasm that my English teacher had,
the furtive smirk visible even in in her goodbyes.
My heaven would have no goodbyes. 

My heaven consists of a house so grand it’s never too far from anywhere and yet,
It’ll have a small fireplace
and a stack of my favourite Roald Dahl books.
There’s going to be a study lined with endless works of art,
even if all I do is bury my nose between the pages and come up smiling stupidly, a library;
the kinds where they have ladders on wheels.
I always did like those ladders.
My heaven would be cute boys who’re taller than me
no matter how high my heels are,
with baritone voices and a penchant for dancing.
In my heaven, I’ll be dancing.
I’ll put on a little Etta James on repeat and sway my hips; heartbeats would replace the seconds passing by
and the rude ticking of the clock would stop.

In my heaven, I’m ageless.
For I can’t tell if I’m going to be eighteen
or twenty five
or forty, when I attain my heaven.
But I do know that everyday, I’m getting just a little bit closer.

A ceasing hush

Her hands trembled as she picked up the pen.
The same one which had looped around to
Add cayenne
To her monotonous life,
Imagining firsts that hadn’t happened then.
She’d construe rainy afternoons and Sunday winter mornings in her head,
A wonderland to which the rabbit hole led.

Six months later,
When she realized that perfection was as hard to find,
As that night was to get off her mind,
She steadied her hand
And wrote

I knew it had been a mistake to step out alone that night as soon as I heard the imminent footsteps…”


I wish to unravel you

I wish to unravel you.
I want to know what makes you smile and what makes silver tears roll from your eyes.
I want to know your favorite bands
What your 4 AMs look like
Do you play with your hair strands
As you nervously falter at the mic?

What makes the corners of your mouth
Twitch up in amused surprise?
Umm.. Do you think that yellow roses
For your birthday, will suffice?

What did you wish for
As you gazed upon that shooting star?
I want to know the woeful tale
Behind your every battle scar.

That empty room in your house
Whose locks rattle on a stormy night
Do you keep your fears in there, love,
Or memories to never set alight?
I don’t invest in bodies; I invest in souls. For I know that when one day the body grows old,
When the skin shrivels and the hair fall out,
Your eyes will sparkle with that familiar furore
And I’ll know to peel you back to your core.
I may never love you, but I want to have you to unfurl,
Make every anecdote a new chapter in this book I’ll call “the story of an ordinary girl,”
and only upon inspection, much like with you,
We’ll all know that
That isn’t true.



She stood there, timeless as flowing water
Like a ray of sun, beautifully evident, yet, indiscernible.
Her hair blew over her face, interrupting the sunshine that was in her eyes, that was her.
He looked at her, wanting to make her his.
But she was no one’s.
A marvel as splendid as the wonder of the clouds forming mysterious shapes giving outlines to her dreams and as simple as the one of a beautiful string of words.
She was brilliant like the luminescent moon; like lightning, fierce, yet illuminating.
Her form so engaging that the lights seemed to shift around her, with her. The winds seems to blow not against, but with her body.
The wonder in his eyes increasing for she seemed like a creature god took special care creating, tinkering away in his toolshed.
Because there she stood,
Untouched. Pure. One with the sky.


Lub Dub.

He had her life and she didn’t want his in return,
Just the sound of his heartbeat, like a war drum.

Anarchy, I suppose, is as good a metaphor as any.


Asking for it

She lay on the side of the road, her body, now not as inviting as it was the night before.
But he satiated his guilt and her family, their questions with a single thought,
of her decision being to wear a miniskirt that night,
now lying in shreds all around her.

“Asking for it.”
As if her body was an imbecile incapable of using its words.