Tasenda

I can see your shadows Escape the dressing room Making my imagination Run wild, even as I wonder What could have been And what would have been I see you try Colors pink and orange As you try to recreate An age long gone by Even as I wonder What could have been And what would have been Your sheer dupattas Matched with your smiles your Hands covered with Invisible henna touch Fabrics, Even as I wonder What could have been And what would have been --                                                          (For A)

I must go, he said. Why, she asked Her beautiful eyes  Almost drowning  The question hangs In the air, like Smoke from which vintage  Steam engine  He looks at her Turns to go, Unsure how to answer, Reasons choking down His throat parched, hands  Shaking, he looks back Trying to say, Goodbye  Their eyes meet Words fail him, she  Almost smiles  he almost cries --                                                                                       (For SS)

My body leaves my soul  Behind in a airport waiting room My sorrow fossilized  By the snow choked cold   I rush to write it's  Obituary, only to find  I have left pen and Paper behind  I am reduced to digitizing my exile  My voice an  Unplayable audio file  Tourists roam around, Their camera phone set on  Stun, their flashes cutting Through my silence  Planes rush around  On the almost wet runway The screeching tires Drowning out my screams

There beyond the carved   Black Iron wrought gate Some miles down the dusty Uneven road You turn left and enter The village of The damned and the dead -- The streets are full of Bloated dead dog carcasses Leather skinned men stand guard At windows which have sad faces Glued on to the panes -- The rats have deserted The village hotel, with its Two rooms and sad kitchen With everyone dead No one has checked in Since 1989 -- Only the tiny graveyard Is tidy, with even The stones glistening In the sun -- The dead don’t Put up with crap -- They come here everyday With torches and pitchforks To wail at the walls And scale the gates Begging to be Let in -- There no space for them here No beds to spare Too many mad men Live here to let a Few more in --

My whotastic speech  That comic gait and  the Bloody bulbous pus  called My nose  Made all the childwen laugh  While it sank in my heart  --  And his diwty twicks Made it wowse,  What is wrowg in  A poor man twying to  Feed his family  Sell a little fuw  And eat a bit of bone

I travel through the Fractured landscape of My oppression Your memory my only companion, melting my Dreams into pure shimmer You lie back, languid On the berth, staring at a Moon I can't see Your sad melancholic Eyes, writing poetry That I can't, won't, read God calls to me And my infidel heart, While I die as I travel through the Fractured landscape of My oppression Your presence, Half imagined, half real Fills up my thoughts Devouring each part Of my soul, as you Declare all of it Hyperbole

It has been years But even now, when you Think i am not looking You stare at me Hating my very being -- I can feel your eyes boring into my back wishing that I was dead wondering why I am there Wishing for him to be here -- I carry someone else’s guilt Even after all this time He haunts my dreams I see you smiling, holding his hand And Leaving me all alone - Every night, I can see you When you think I am asleep Holding back the desire To smother me in my sleep And let the demons die - I never asked for this But how was I supposed To know, that you would Go and discover love That was not me -- Please don’t blame me I never knew,   who he was I never understood Why he was -- For me nothing Existed, nothing but you