Allah i got dumped
who is listening to this
song, sometimes opening
that channel on radio to only hear
voices of men singing
only women
walking through desserts
of foreign flowers crowding
streets full of action
dodging those grey-blue petals
falling on me endlessly
peppering already white
black
sequences
don’t bother hiding those
bitter cries in divided rooms
better if you can pray
instead but which room will you
now find me in
i will trace you with
those slippers you keep forgetting
since i cannot
write poetry to help glance at your
moon face Allah hasn’t given
any permission to extract that
perfume from your presence yet
change of scene would mean
arid lands of a tomorrow
becoming dusty and bleak only
fragrance of plastic burning skin
those infinite lands can
give the blessing to become
one with the dump
landfills garbage
but this time not
to sprout a new seeking
to remain within earth of
lowest quality of most
barren places reached by me
Allah my dump went on
for years or it felt like that
to come and really pester
me and let go of that
old mansion with floors
of imagination and expectations
shattering great women
to the grand submission
finally looks and smells too
good to be true and gone forever
your voice floating
from some other side of disappointment
like a bakery on the side
of winding roads leading to
small towns beside a huge mountain
coconuts and cream puffs
will you come back to me you
wandering love
no ustads can bring back to me
you are going to remain thirsty inside
my unfragrant tears vacuum packed
koyels slightly dying rotting inside and out
even seeing that you will never travel to distant lands
and lover you will stay
outside of a field i pray
not to find you anymore in front
just beside me when no one will adore
my ankles or my diminishing curves
scratching your dark skin
just beside me unlike Allah
how else do i call out to your heart?
how else?
when we sat in triangles
refuge was bordering us
our names circling us
our lives kidding us
just the perfect combination
to call upon one who doesn’t belong
one who cannot be real
one who is by definition
among the heartiest and loneliest
Rukmini is person who sometimes wants to be AI who sometimes wants to be person. She is interested in landscapes, cityscapes, bodyscapes. She writes poetry only when she feels like a Queen.