Adolescent Summer

it's still some timefor summer, but the tropicsun is already harsh.a brisk walk causesmy head to perspire,and the hibiscus tooon my window hasbegun to wilt at dusk.it's what one would callan adolescent summer. but i loathe adolescence. i loathe adolescence forthe soft bristles of hairthat made my face patchy,and bore my voice an impoliteandrogenous lilt that mademe sound confident, butnever convincing. i loatheit for i how i discoveredmyself in the...

Terrains of Truth

i remember being with atrekkers tribe once at theShivalik in Himachal.amongst a drunken,singing ring ofbackpackers around asputtering golden fire,and four greasy whole chickenssweating on the flames.the stars hung low inthe night’s looming net:like balled tea leaves in astrainer, as we drank the darkthat filled the cup of our eyes,over moist whispering and wordsthat became intangiblesmoke leaving our mouth. ‘it's gonna get colder throughthe night’,...

So You Know

i am not usedto the water.and at the gentlestdash of wavesi stiffen and stumble; falling overbreathless, as broken sheetsof sea empty my toesof muddy sand,and i claw at theseabed with allmy might to holdup against the current. once thewaves are gone,and the new onesswell at a distance,i sit embedded onthe shore like awashed-up waterweed, as my handsform determined rootsinto the yielding brown mud,and a cluster of shellsin chalky huesgather in myclenched...

Season of Void

days have started to die late. the dusk grieves along the skyline in wails of red, soaked by the uncaring monotony of this city. i already missthe early stars blushing inmasks of fog; the cold tremorof leaves; and the winter breezethat cracked my lips and flaked my scalp. the onset of summer annoys me, just as the unwarranted departure of winter upsets my heart. did I not love you enough? i wonder. beaten blankets strung in empty balconies flutter lightly on...

Fly Away

the pavements have swelled with the thicket of boys. and the rustic clamour of their lives drift into my room coloured in January sunshine. i watch them in vibrant apparelshuddled across the street: their faceslifted to the sunlit sky, anda legion of fluttering kitesswim in and out of their squinting eyes. there's Mustaq at the promenade – an oversized flimsy maroon sunglass rests on his firm cheek bones, with his sister behind him. a reeling spool...