lost

there are things lost
in transit
in fickle memory
in imagination
in re-imagining
in tinted hues
in the distance
in love
in the lack thereof
in leaving
in growing
in time
in no time at all
in gardens
in hallways
in heads
in hearts
you do not fall
into these lists
of too-easily-lost
yet you are
forever lost 

to me.

take more pictures

pause for a minute,
picture the face of someone you love

think of drawing them, describing them
to an artist, a policeman

what words would you use?
how reconstruct them?

what describes their particular softness?
how portray their individual grace?

what did they look like

when they looked at you?

can you reduce them precisely, perfectly,
to skin, eye, hair?

trace the line of their jaw?
shape of their smile?

ever seen the way
the light touches their skin?

pictures in our heads
so fragile, fleeing things

and faces,
faces, far too easy to forget.

(In memory of grandfather who, knowing this, marched us off to a studio for a family portrait. He died in an accident soon afterwards.)

for Rajeewa

if you went to death,

how much grief

did your body hold?

if death came to you,

how much courage?

let us not speak

of regret.

notes to self

1.
you are not the first person
to have had your heart broken

2.
you are not the first
to be cheated on

3.
you are not the first
to wake up with glass inside you

4.
you are not the first
to be paralysed by grief

5.
you are not the first
to be unloved.

pandemic poem

this noose of corona despair
ever-present, like dust in the air,
it sometimes threatens

to drop like a familiar snake, or 
an acquaintance visiting, with
bags and baggage in tow, but I

slip away, quietly, slowly;
pretend there is no one home, I
walk quietly into the garden; I

look around hopefully -
see time greening to life around me; I
sense the clouds moving away

the ground, it stays still; I
stay still with it; ever so slowly, I
grow in gratitude

when I come back in, I
do not touch my face; I
step into the shower, singing.

submerged - III

yesterday
I was paralysed by grief again
I found myself holding on 
to the edge of the sink
staggering, shaken,
when I came to

later,
peeling potatoes,
I found myself with my hands 
submerged in the hot water
I had slipped them in,
then held them there,
unthinking

I, 
who have always been 
so careful with my hands, 
now I don't even flinch 
when they are burning

I don't even know.

submerged - II

my limbs
get so heavy sometimes

I have to picture myself
picking me up in parts

                           this hand
                           with this other hand

                           these legs
                           with both these hands

                           this head
                           takes so much to hold up

before I can make myself lurch
through this landslide of grief

submerged - I

from "you are my world"
to "you were my world"

there is a space so vast
I can't navigate it yet -

not through the ocean
of our endless tears

if we can stop crying
I might stop drowning.

salt in water

I wanted you to hold me
until the sadness disappeared 

it did -
like salt in water

no one can see it now
but it is all I can taste

there is a fire burning inside me still

I'll just keep on
saving up these knives -
use them to stab myself again.
you think you hurt me with words?

you will never know
how I hurt myself.

I take them out each night
look at all these weapons you tried
and here I am bloody and broken and yet
not begging, not so fallen as to let you feed me.

do you know nothing?
I know how to stay hungry.

look in the mirror for this one

don't tell me to
drop the fucking knife
after you made me feel unsafe

this.

to never

have to bury

anyone I love.

leave

why didn't you leave?

how do you answer that?

only by leaving 

repeat offender

to think
that you think
I traced only one transgression
you forget how fast
I read

for Lasantha

do you know what a bomb

does to a body?

an embalmer tells me

they do what they can

with the parts they get

but sometimes

it just isn’t enough

I’ve been carrying your body

around for far too long

parts of you are

falling into dinner 

conversations, drying up

the laughter

when they remember 

how they have forgotten 

other presses are state-of-the-art

the men at their helm fearless

for they rarely speak truth to power

or challenge the might of the State

your press has fallen silent

and soon your legacy 

will be silenced too 

even as your life’s work

is slowly being erased

not all presses test their strength 

against State machinery 

not all papers push up

against the State’s perversions 

not all people are prepared

to be pulverised

were you?

what you are

some people
bite the hand that feeds

you poured poison into mine
held it to my mouth

and mauled me
to bits

shredding every part
that bleeds

then,

shedding all decency
insult to injury

you came begging
armed with balm that only burns

you cannot help
what you are

some people
bite the hand that feeds

                    pity them -
                    they know no other ways to eat

unloving

go, my love.

search for

what you think you want -
someone who loves you like I do

know you will succeed.

it is no fool's errand -
each day I love you less,
each day you move closer to your goal

that place where old and new cross.

when I am almost at the end
scraping the barrel 

for the dregs of this love, 

you will find the love you seek - 

someone who loves you 
like I do.

the unloving 

begins now -

go, my love.

hallucinate

let me live
in those seconds
between awakening
and awareness

when I don't remember 
what I have lost

before the ache begins
and I feel like the target
at the gathering 
of archers

before it feels like
all the knife throwers
are practicing 
on me

before the storm hits
and I find myself
fighting to breathe
underwater

let me live
in that place
between sleep
and awake

tell myself
we are still ours

always

if you ever wonder why
even after all this time
remember, we said 'always'

grief

moving heavily through grief
my sights on grace

trying to learn how to forget
after letting go

I left, I know -
leaving's easy;

living?
no.

black grief

on some days I am brought to my knees
on the cold tiles by this harsh grief

black light spilling on the floor

it slams in like a freight train
swept off-track by a tsunami

I stand in its path, eager, willing

it breaks my bones brutally
meat on the butcher's block

I surrender to the knife, kneeling

it shreds me apart slowly
paper boat in a storm

I cannot swim yet I walk into the sea

I ask myself angrily,
how can someone can cry so much?

I am 60% water, how can I not?

bloodshed

I watch
blood drop
into the water

hypnotised 
it opens out 
like tendrils

whisper
'my god, my god
what have we done?'

accident scene

slowly becoming an accident

I hold myself
in my hands
slice into me
sweet, sharp
each night
let the dark in
and taste it 
in my veins

memory a blade shredding me

after the loving

the taste of blood

in my mouth

from your mouth

ad lib

you said be ready
I wasn't ready for this.

to death

the last time
I lost you

I found myself
feverishly saving stories
of how many people
died that day
and how

I would
flip through them
eyes burning
hands trembling
GREEDY
tasting them
with relish
seething envy

reciting their names
lusting after their deaths
almost hating them
for escaping

struck by lightning?
so many! so lucky!
electrocuted?
how sudden, how kind!
road accident?
how ordinary! I'll take it!

insides turned into soup
by fluoride ion?
a slow death, this,
always too late
when you know
you've been exposed

[it was too late
when I knew
I had exposed myself
to loss to come,
to this heavy grief,
when I first set eyes on you]

imagine being
envious of the dead
- damp corpses
rotting in cold graves -

but that was then

loss

tea mixed with regret
spent bullets in the dust
knives sliding across the tongue
blood on metal

the scent of you
in the mornings
after you've spent yourself
on someone else

nothingness
an emptiness too vast to fill
except with every last drop
of your blood

screaming with no sound
a steady drowning
slowly and then all at once
catching fire

the cold ashes
of everyone I've ever loved
perfume sprayed
on the inside of my wrist

a dead body floating on water
buffeted by waves
forever rising
to look at me

warmth

sometimes I order
a fat mug of steaming coffee
just to hold something warm

then I picture your heart
pulsating in my palms
hot blood spilling into cold air

the fire it kindles
keeps me warm for days
let the coffee go cold

ceasefire

when men leave

women try to heal each other
but wars are never far away

at midnight the tree 
outside my window
comes alive with fireflies

and then the bats
eat them 

plaster saint

you would recoil in horror
at the mere thought 
of crushing a cockroach
you would not even 
kill an ant, no

then you
stabbed me repeatedly
until I had to hold my insides in
with my hands and fight
for air

my body remembers 
being your punching bag
your mattress
your safe space
your well

the place from which 
you would fill yourself -
and pour it all out 
on someone else.

whore

whenever someone sets out to break me,
their intentions so transparent,
I look to you

an army of beggars, amateurs,
tongues tripping
on stock phrases

"you’re so beautiful";
"I want you now";
"I love you"

it takes a halfwit to fall for it,
this parade of hands reaching out
to take, take, take!

hungry mouths spilling out
so much flattery, it stinks in the streets
saccharine sweet

then, unfailingly, the parade of accusations
weak men forever shouting
'WHORE'

they think I care,
they think they burn me,
I, who have felt nothing after you

rebirth

reel it all back in,
those feelings you poured into us
these past months

fill yourself up again
with your illusions, leave me empty
of your word vomit

did you think I would beg?
did you think I would weep?
did you think I would even blink?

you do me
a disservice
with these imaginings

I have been buried too many times
to be eviscerated
by one more ending

I will resurrect myself just fine

Losing Lasantha

your loss tastes like

newspapers

soaked in blood for breakfast

newsprint gathering dust in darkness

printing presses silenced by State machinery

windshield glass mixed with sand
spent bullets trampled into the dirt

(the bullets didn't break your body or brain:
to eliminate you they had
cattle-prods)

deafness to a decade’s screaming

a strangling of leads
leading nowhere

ink rendered invisible

your silenced laughter

spilling into the earth

forebodings of what would follow

with Kilinochchi withdrawal

Elephant Pass abandonment

the weight of all those doctors

bearing down on you

to bring you back

the names of those

who wanted you dead

still laughing

printing in reverse

unchewed pens

tears.

(8 January 2019 marks 10 years since Lasantha was assassinated.)

futile

don't mind me
I'm just waiting
for the world 
to stop breaking
all the women 
it births

Papa

your death was an accident
a man driving drunk,
nothing out of the ordinary here

but you stayed faithful to the end

purposeful even in passing –

rising, bloody and broken, to your knees

the unbroken flow of the sign of the cross,

a prayer to your Father,

and down, to death

your very shoes were flung off
by the force of the impact -

one hit the windshield of a car passing by

a car that didn’t kill anyone

the driver returned it,

a kindness that burns

the other flew off your foot

we don’t know where it went

or who found it

and if they wondered about the owner

long after we buried you

growing up

when I grew up
my mother hand-stitched 
me a dress like a dream
layers upon layers 
of silk and net
gold and white and cream

my stepfather
kissed me hard on the lips
and moved his tongue roughly 
and insistently 
inside my mouth
saying I was grown up now 
this was his gift

men who came later
threatened to kill him
gnashed their teeth and
clenched their fists - 
yet wanted the same
and more.

firefly

I killed a firefly

it kept shining, glowing
burning
        bioluminescent

still emitting light
        long after it died

it left a trail
green gold
        brilliant
        steadfast drops

burned my eyes
poor baby firefly

you taught me
how it feels

        to hold light.

perfume

I still remember

how it began,

this lifelong obsession

with perfumes

a gift from my uncle

returning home

after two decades away

(he didn't even come back

to bury his mother, you see,

forever sending her letters home

unread, unopened)

a pack of five

exquisite French perfumes

I, barely 16,

hooked

time

I always thought

we would have

more time

that day, bleeding

all over the place,

washing everything

including ourselves

laughing at disaster

when we still could

you said these

were the memories

we'd take with us

I always thought

we would make more

but no

departures

let me leave you

like one would

a building

no turning back

to give it

second glances,

caress the curves

of its arches,

or linger in its doorways

hesitant, longing

let me leave you

like that,

effortlessly –

step out into the light

or the night

at my convenience

let me enter lives

like one enters

a train, coach, plane,

exit just as easily –

sometimes there is

some stumbling,

but one recovers

let me not leave

the way one does

a horrific accident

broken, bleeding,
barely alive
numb, trembling 
and find myself

relating the tale years later

a party trick

the audience, enraptured,

indulging in the sick pleasure

of reliving visceral pain

let me leave you

as I found you,

unthinkingly

serendipitously

directions

how could you not prepare

for the sorrow waiting at the 

second turn on the left?

you know these roads

all lead to heartbreak

how could you not know

the pain being amassed

at each stop in this journey

spooned into the sunsets

dished out at each door?

that barely two turns in,

the heart screws would slip off

you would fall in the mud

and not even know it,

staring stupidly at the sky

when did you stop listening

to the directions from inside?

how could you keep on

running those red lights?

I swear it never stops

submission

if you stay still
and stay silent,
it will be okay

your silence
must not be
assertive,

nor your stillness
self-important

they must not
make any 
STATEMENT

signal
submission,
then things
will be okay,
no one will
hurt you

they will hurt you
but only so much

never more
than necessary

stitch

it is slow, this stitching 
of life together;
jaggedness everywhere

I am forever 
reciting, remembering,
reminding myself:

it is not
'blood is thicker
than water' but

'the blood of the covenant
is thicker than 
the water of the womb'

the fabric is stained
but the thread is strong
I fold the cloth over, resolute

gather my soldiers together 
in tight stitches
these new wars we will win

knifed

sitting on your bed
watching you dress

the sound of rain around us
falling heavy, a premonition

you turn your head sideways,
slowly they emerge

those knives,
four long stripes 

whose fingernails 
raked your skin?

why haven't they
gone all the way in?

dug deep into throat, 
ripped out jugular?

let you bleed, die,
spare me this sight?

she has you
by the throat 

you have me
by the heart

black dog blues

this is not a poem
this is a rant

this is a rant
about the black dog
the black dog that 
drags me down
into the mud

this damn dog
has me in a death grip
jaws locked tight
neither of us knows 
how to let go

on some days 
I can dance 
on the surface
of this mud that
must own me

and on some days
I can somehow 
stay on top
even when the ground
keeps giving way

on some days, the light, 
struggling, 
breaks in
when the fog won't lift 
or darkness ease

but most days,
most days,
are suffocating
in this sludge

this damn dog 
drags me down

the best cigarette

the one I steal
from your hand
still damp from a shower
wet from your mouth
and your fingers

the best cigarette

the last one 
before I leave
as we try to pack
all of us
into those last minutes

the best cigarette

fills this space
in my chest
when you are gone
I need to touch you
to know you are here

the best cigarette

one final drag
to see me through
it looks like us and
tastes like you

stopped

I wear my watches stopped, all of them.

each year my sister replaces hers
with newer designs, gives me one or two

they've stopped, she says,
repair them.

I nod my head, wear them as they are
remembering how your heart stopped

how your heart was stopped.


(for Lasantha)

disproportionate

this love is disproportionate
give me more of you
leave me more
of me

joy

I did not see

this joy coming

it covered its tracks well –

dreadful timing

unwarranted absences

sudden withdrawals

selfish silences

drunken delusions

this messy trail of clothes

you watching me, silently

folding them

smiling.

slow burn - III

how will my heart

let go of you –

who will tell it to?

I dare not listen to

this fearful tattoo

it now beats

one day it will hear of you

loving someone else

break again all at once

for now let it hold on to you

and break slowly

every day