To Call it Loss

One More Mistake I Did Repeat

one more mistake i did repeat,
for the body must be listened to.
that memory returns,

“Hi-bye, hi-bye”

like a half-hearted drizzle
that hurts
curling my body into cold.

and the pain breaks in:
my body has no roots,
binding curses
swallowed again and again
only to be spill-back out.

“Come! Come here, fight me”
but you don’t.

sometimes the trace’s erased
after the grass turning wet

“Look at you, an unpriced whore.”

and my loneliness punishes me
like a cruel state against its people,

and perhaps you’ll never make it here,
crossing the heights of social-standing that
stacked like hills.

To Call it Loss

Now I’ll become Zaheer,
letting most of myself lost:
loosened along the road,
turning into clouds
only to fall down and rain back on me now and then
as titles of memories,
whatever their genre may be.

So the wanderers of broken-heart poems
may have something to drink,
may walk from one desert to another
without collapsing from thirst.

That garden must be tended,
and tending it is far more important
than tending me, of course.

For the garden stays, earned, bears fruit,
while I am good only in leaving:
coming and going,
in spending myself into absence.

And where does Father’s name go?
praised by the people of the hometown?

Surely it cannot simply fall apart
because of a calf
that lost its home
and its mom.

I See The Moon

I see The Moon
I see a snake in a blue waterfall.
night-scented flowers blooms at the edge of the bathroom tub.

My mother dreams she is drifting into outer space,
and when she finally touches it,
she falls instead into the sea.

Oh, in a building this tall,
I can feel it clearly that I am no-none-body.
I was so small under the building that keep rising.

I hear that life’s alike a train,
each station discarding memories
that have swollen too much to carry.

I stroke a white tiger,
and the fireflies that light up
becoming my eyes.