Wednesday, 30 September 2020

Our stories

Our stories 

Moon      a backdrop 

          the silhouetted tree doesn’t tell much 

much of it went with the last storm 

                               slate and black contours 

                              of even similar landscape seems alien 


our stories differ with how the moon stands 

how much of the tree could stand the storm 

how the contours come alive when the night sky 

sparks the storyteller inside our hollow ribcages  


        no     but the cities have different stories  

they are alive in a different way 

they differ with how we perceived our stories 

how we told our stories every time we told them 

why we told them to those whom we told them 

everything matters in a world of uncertainties 


                      the moon matters 

                     even as a backdrop  

Wednesday, 23 September 2020

Stand tall

Catrin Welz-Stein’s images

Stand tall 

The pink hue  

                    roses I have grown// 


Burn nights to decipher my look 

        To read every chapter  

                   Like I am an owned book// 


Undeniable scratches on time-scape 

                                   Thorns I have grown 

You push bushes forward---ah! Messiah --- 

                                Like I am a deer so frozen// 


I am roots, leaves and flowers on time-scape 

Of creation and of nurturing 

Turn your vicious nails and scratch it on your dead flesh 

                        Until it splits open to bleed 

And gulp down the pain, the syllables too. 

Straighten your eyes, your back; 

I stand here tall, rosy hue, cyphered look; 

Stand tall, know my eyes, don’t push bushes, 

Walk beside me, talk and know S P A C E 

                                              Around me, you and everything. 

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