to say we were lost boys would be cliché
but clichés have ways
of cementing truths into language
like hard red suns that scorched West Philly & warm beers we guzzled ‘till we couldn’t walk straight & time went missing like a thief
who stole my innocence
& we packed into an old sedan on a road to nowhere &
perhaps, if time is not linear, this had to happen &
if free will is a myth, we had no choice in the matter,
merely swigging, smoking, fighting in adolescent wastelands
Continue readingin psych wards, they take your belt, shoelaces
anything you could use to hurt yourself
when I’m there, I fear the world will kill me
so, I give them my belt, tell ’em to take good care of it
& I talk to others there
& I feel damaged & I identify with compatriots –
Continue readingFor my father
in the dining room, action figures were imprisoned in a green vase, and you returned from prison with my uncle, looking slimmer
from pushups in sunbaked yards
mustache and dazed look gone, down on one knee, arms open wide & smiling with teeth I learned were fakes
I thought you were fake, too
unrecognizable, a stranger from a blurred past we no longer spoke of, only at grandma’s house, when we opened letters decorated by your brother with cut-outs from Marvel comics
& were told you were away on business –
Continue readingstuck in swamplands
it seemed the pain would never end
a cycle of torture, anxieties about futures
that would demolish me
leave me in ashes
in a bombed-out city
during an irrational war –
it took perseverance to pull myself
from rubble, trudge forward
all while asking
is there any meaning
to this constant struggle?
(Photo by Elvis Bekmanis on Unsplash)
in solitude I come to know myself –
chatter of others stripped away, me stripped
of creature comforts, a creature without
a haven, thoughts bang & jangle
in a brain that has gone insane –
Continue readingwe talk about serenity
but I’m not sure what we mean
there have been times
I was serene
but it’s few and far between
I want it to be a permanent state
of being
an emotion that stretches into
the future, forever
but that’s impossible
like asking to control the weather
so, as days go by
& I grow older
I hope I grow wiser, too
settle for serene moments
instead of reaching for something
that’s beyond my feeble grip
(Photo by Eric Muhr on Unsplash)
There are ghosts in my family –
I realize this as my mother tells tales
of a biological grandfather I never knew
who blew smoke in my face
when I was two
of years my father spent in jail
of anxiety that permeates
the family tree, which is
diseased & hollowed
about to crumple & topple
into grayish dirt
(Photo by Dikaseva on Unsplash)
I didn’t realize I was sinking
‘til I ended up in the psych ward –
red stitches on a woman’s neck
she looks like a scarecrow
she sliced her own throat
to make the torment end
I was sinking
(Photo by Mishal Ibrahim on Unsplash)
Cindy parked her work truck in the shade by a McDonald’s and took a big bite out of her Quarter Pounder. Her lunch breaks were always interrupted by phone calls — the endless calls from dispatchers. Today was no different.
When her phone rang, she turned down the Brad Paisely song on her radio.
“Hey, sunshine,” said Marcus, the dispatcher. “Feel like catching any more dogs today?”
It wasn’t the call Cindy wanted to get. But at least it wasn’t the call, the one she constantly feared getting.
Continue reading
The Feel Of Arts
Tumse Na Ho Payega
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