Be yourself; Everyone else is already taken.
— Oscar Wilde.
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Teach me, Love
Teach me Teach me how you walk straight Teach me how you climb trees Teach me how you comprehend the temperature in degrees Teach me Teach me how you write with the ink pen Teach me how you don't cry when arguing Teach me how you learnt the algorithms for Rubik's cube Teach me how you don't mess up your breathing Teach me Teach me how you don't fall in love with strangers Teach me how you don't leave your heart in unlikely places Teach me how you don't forget names and faces Teach me Anger Teach me Hate Teach me Love Teach me, Love.
Olympians
We have ancient Gods and Goddesses living among us
Perhaps their reincarnations nevertheless
Walking the same earth
In a different age, but the same old mess
For I have seen Zeus
In the protesters who fight for justice
And in those who can’t resist drenching themselves in rainstorms
For I have met Hera
In my femtor
And in the YouTubers who teach women self care
For I know Aphrodite is that girl with the several secret admirers
And Hestia is the one who trained these flawless homemakers
My ophthalmologist had to be Theia!
And the generations of mid-wives, Ilithyia.
Because when Mackail said –
“Yea, the Olympians then were wont to go
Among us, visible godheads, to and fro.”
And when Matthew Arnold said –
“First hymn they the Father | Of all things; and then
The rest of Immortals, | The action of Men.”
Literature is how some mortals achieve Immortality
To learn, and to agree, is to be a believer
And Oh how their lives, oblivious sagas, are the Odyssey
Stay Wild, Moonchild!
Dear bub,
Hope you are sleeping well, and not worrying about your woes,
I cannot see you..
Through this choking smoke, smothering dust, and your closed windows,
It's been a while since you've seen me too..
Yesterday, when you stumbled out of the party, at midnight,
I saw you, with her, some girl you had just met.
I thought you'd come out to have me in your sight,
But, you just wanted to have a cigarette.
I was hoping you'd look up,
But you were staring at her face..
And then you said "Yupp,"
When she asked, "Let's go back to my place?"
I couldn't see you after you entered her building,
Then saw you open the window of her studio apartment..
You were playing with your hoop earring,
Until she stroked your neck and whispered, "it's a beautiful moment."
She whispered something, and you turned your back to the window..
I could only see your straightened hair and the left out wavy tress,
As she inched closer to you, on her tiptoe..
And then you closed the window, as she began to undress.
I didn't see you after that.. you must have woken up late,
Hope she fed you well, not just an espresso for breakfast!
Did you ask if she likes the rap music that you hate?
Did you tell her that she was your first?
Never mind, please talk to me like you used to when you couldn't sleep..
Because now, you are too exhausted for insomnia.
And if you are up all night, you spend it reading about the girl with the oxygen concentrator named Philip.
It's late, you should sleep. Have a good night Mija.
Yours Forever,
Selene.
CREATOR’S MUSE
She taught me about poetry was my pen, my prompt and my poem She was the muse of the universe inspired the creation of mist and dirt and thunders and this floating rock we call home
Her Eyes, Leaving dishonesty vulnerable, mesmerizing each heretic And watching and re-watching Titanic Her Ears, Harkening to the arcane whispers of the black holes about how to mend earth's chasms And listening to her BFF’s latest discourse-‘dark memes are the resurgence of neo-Dadaism’ Her Lips, Casting spells of Life on dried out leaves And whistling back to the cuckoo singing in the balcony Her Nose, Made them consider it a Yin spot in Chinese astrology And the canvas for perfect highlight and contouring Her Palms, In which the Goddesses have planted constellations of dark and bright galaxies And in which she collects the raindrops of rainstorms to wash off her muddied knees Her Arms, With Magic and time flowing through the blue green veins And carrying around her Psych textbooks with lyrics scribbled in the margins Singing lullabies into the void, forging matter with every word Tiptoeing through shimmering stars barefoot, sprinkling life and stardust She neatly organised the stars, giving them family and neighbors Moulding the planets in layers of core, mantle and crust She didn’t make humans in her own image She is looking for herself in them.
Poetry with a sword 