Tuesday, March 18, 2008


Struck between pressures like hydrogen gas,
Oxygenated hydrogen for tears and unparted lips for a collecting-flask,
Post-partum, catching water for lies,
For sighs,
Emanating from her,
From him,
For her,
But no longer
A seed she was supposed to bear,
Syringing foetuses to form fodder for nightmares,
She sometimes would hear,
The child crying,
And feel the baby's corpse for a pillow,
A pool of blood for a bed sheet
And all else that runs cold below
A hardened face.
This hardened place
Where no education, no car, no music and certainly
No Man
Could ever compensate.

Monday, March 17, 2008


Been trying my hand at some photography in my backyard. I saw the quotation once "Real Art is a thin breath exhaled amidst a struggle in the mind." I fell in love with it.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Sunday Seeds

Mustard Seed Sun
Amassing my midday sky
With a warmth
Spreading across skins,
Sasso-borro Brown
As they might be,
Pelo a causa de mi
Identidad Negra.
This Caribbean sun flavours
My thoughts,
Swizzle-sitcked and stamped
To my source
As these moments start traveling
Beyond yellow-walled boundaries
Of this bedroom,
Bounded by mummy’s Sunday food,
That traps some of my senses back here,
Black hair, twisting madly
Into brown ends,
Brown bends of my body,
Stretched across this bed,
Outside light strapped across my forehead,
For to spend just two more minutes
Soaking in my laziness,
Would only make me
Miss another Sunday…