Category: Poem


They used words

for weapons,

while we

used  words

on wounds…


Poetry was

our honey,

for them it was more salt.


Their bodies broke

all over poems

while our souls

broke into our own…




they wrote

and called them


while our poetry

kept us warm.













Strangely enough,
my ribs hadn’t given
my heart
enough geography lessons
on finding yours
when your nights played
a game
of hide and seek
with my days…
But I learnt
to count
stars like seconds
that were left
till you came home
while you drove
that turned into
at my end…

I hoped you’d never know
how it felt like
to race time-
from the hands
of your clock
to the scattered signals
of my telephone,
to the half drunk teacup
I fell asleep on
missing you
felt like first love
on my heart strings.

Letters to my future daughter- I

Darling if

he’s the right kind of wrong,

you will make love just

by holding hands.

He’d touch your soul

before touching your body,

as he treats you

like a shrine.

He’d pick wild daisies

from the roadside

and leave on your porch

just to see your smile.

Like a prayer

he’d say he loves you,

and toast your name

with each glass of wine.

You will laugh so well,

once he learns to love you,

when the time is right

it will be worthwhile..