You are scared to come to my iron door It’s not even midnight You feet will get no sores You can come And jangle the iron door Do you wonder If i will be upstairs On the floor

My li’l baby is in town She didn’t rant, She doesn’t rave She isn’t down. My li’l baby is in a beige gown She’s learnt a sweet language It is new, it is rude It is strange. She’s coming of age She’s making to scoot, and envisage She walks behind when she doesn’t walk Ahead. It is true She’s a level head. I remember how Once I walked the same My gait, meaningless like my face The face I made was exasperated My father looked back as he said —

Only I Remain — © Sanjukt

Amy — Listen up, the sun was almighty, like every, Midnightly, when I drink. I drink, a bitter moonshine, from the liquor store. We ain’t making it anymore. Andrew, now he is a songbird, he is high perched The wires, too far above me. When I was twenty, I took…

Our children are fighting for our future. — Amy, I tried — Holding on to the lines on my face Counting months, for aren’t they shorter? February, came Soon after December. Years went by. I can no longer remember What you said to me on the stairs about bicycles, and the future. Amy, I tried — Holding on To the shirt you gave me In October. The…

Amy, The last time I met you You said — Let’s play war. My tank and your gun, No shining sun. You said we could become prisoners of the snow. White phosphorus Grey graphite and lead. Let’s pencil the living Their dread. Oh! How we can write, what we can take. Your boots on leaves and my shoes in mud. Our hearts in slush Our lust wouldn’t slake. Amy, Let’s play war With flowers and twig For a ribbon on our chest.

I am lighting a fire To change photographs Back into memories. But the ashes Become fireflies They sting my eyes Negatively.

I am looking for a shroud of sadness, Wrap me in white and some blue. The whisky ain’t cutting it any longer, I have tried putting on your shoes. I am a stonefish in the hands of a master, He skins, cuts and peels. I tremble soon after. The iron sand piercer dulls my brain in the order of steel. I am looking for a cloud of water to cover my blue skin.

For every neutrino there exists another with an opposite half spin. — Embers of our souls half spins of a neutrino. Skinny birds, on broken trees burn like coals from old. Black rain from the grimy train, my feathers wet and closed. How would I How would I know — my need to be alone. Pine line the winding road In the mist they can seem solitary so. Behind their unhurried neat, neat row, they hide crowds of their kind.