Tuesday, 21 April 2015


I wish I could say
when you had left me
that everything we went through together
ceased to be relevant. That they were not at all
beautiful, not at all touching,
not all true. I wish I could say
that I ceased to remember at the very moment
that you began to forget me. Every single
Regina Spektor song, every night we spent
singing our troubles away, every cup of coffee
that I savored while you looked on with distaste.

Instead I lie on a bed in a dim room we do not share,
and I think, it’s lucky that we fizzled out
before the damage grew worse and forgetting
is no more an option than the only way
to carry on.

I write poems in the office—
                love has always been one for poetry—
and you study in the library. 

Life goes on

as it should.

Sunday, 19 April 2015

you do not own me

You do not own me.

I should have said that way before.
I should’ve said that at your first utterance
of a promise.  A promise I should not have called
a promise, because I paid it with a kiss.

I do not owe you anything.

I should have said that before you forced me
to capitulate, before you took me in your arms
and mapped the terrain of my body with your hands,
before you claimed my nights, my days, my secrets—
my life. The tragedy of this age—people go about
thinking they can buy, that they can own
We have gone from being people to being
only things  of relative worth.
A heart is nothing
but a beating apparatus inside our chests,
indicating life or death.
But I’ll defy! This heart inside my chest
can love and suffer and it will:
carve my imprint out on the malleable earth, my heart,
make sure we are remembered.  

This heart is not yours.
You have not earned it, nor have I
given it to you.