Filling Spaces

Poetry.

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Look at my beautiful daughter. She’s so stinky. Stinkin’ cute 💖

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Our heroes bent the light to see

Where shadows curved close to the chest

Praised themselves, then let us bleed

To obfuscate the marks they left

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At night, I cling to my mother

As children do; whinge and whine

Because she is leaving me alone.

Her friends are all downstairs,

And my father, and she is sick of

Taking care. She points into the night,

Syrupy-sweet, frangipani-thick,

And the shapeless dark beyond,

Says a bracing monster waits

If I do not close my eyes. She says

The thing will eat me, sinew and bone;

That she can see its red eyes gleaming,

Waiting for a chance to strike.

She tells me this, grins as she goes,

Leaving me alone.

I close my eyes to save my life.

Under the covers, under my eyelids,

Witches laugh, demons lie in wait.

I am maybe three or four - I cannot tell

Where the more pressing danger lies-

In dreams or in the waking world.

Decades later, I fear the dark

And cling to light just like a child.

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It was hard to prune the tree.

The sprawling branches had grown familiar

Even as they rotted.

The thought of loss, of the forfeit

Of their shade, became a stilling hand.

Yet I missed the sun.

My longing for better things

A knife; I cut the rotting

Piece by piece.

Standing in a graveyard,

Afraid of want, of lack, dreams

Fell like leaves around me.

Yesterday I saw the sun. Saw

Colour bloom around me.

Life had returned to the garden,

And the tree had sprouted budding leaves.

Light enough for all; the promise

Of shade - all aspects in harmony.

Some days I miss the cool,

The sprawl, chorus of her leaves.

I commit the sound to memory,

I commit my memory to the divine

As dreams hum like bees around me.

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A haiku:

Two sad clowns kissing

Oh shit, back up a little!

Narcissus you fool 🤦🏽‍♀️

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September 2023, after the storm

*

Dozing beneath the willow trees

The branches dance above,

Cut clean along their borders

and pasted on a velvet sky.

In leafy, lively susurrus, they

Shake their heads and flap their skirts.

Birds nestled in the dark green shadows,

Deep in conversation, flirt and cuss.

The sun lays across me like a warm blanket.

Scant clouds scatter in the blue.

Snoozing over easy, down at grassroots,

Is a blue bead only I can see. That and

Bugs going about their business to god knows where.

One traverses the highway of my arm

Then merges on a nearby leaf.

Some skim the clover and the fine fescue.

Others hover, clustered in busy conference.

On the green horizon, children playing “hunt the beast”

Hurl their bikes along the path.

In the distance, a yipping dog has a lot to say.

Yesterday we cried together and cleaned a wound.

Today I, with no more poetry left in me,

Drift dreamy on a willowsong.

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I left a light on so you could find me.

It gets dark later these days, I know,

Still I think it could help, if

You’re running late or moving slow.

Already I’ve attracted moths

And a menagerie of bugs that sing.

I give them sugar water and a

Place to rest their wings.

I left a light on for you, just in case,

In this house you laid foundations for.

Been renovating thirty years

Still the bones are just as you recall.

Sometimes friends will gather here

to share a meal of things we’ve grown.

I left a light on just in case

I’m busy when you show.

Been planting flowers in the garden,

The sorts that you can eat.

It looks a little overgrown,

Though very lush and sweet.

Clover underfoot,

I can’t help but dance for fun.

I left a light on just in case

I’m dancing when you come.

At night, all tucked myself in bed, I stay up late.

I oiled the hinges on the gate

So I might not hear you there.

I left a light on just in case you catch me unawares.

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Visit Original Link

Volume's low bc this was originally recorded late at night, turn it up and use headphones. I like it a lot!

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For You, The Survivor.

My darling, Be gentle with yourself. Your hurts are already bruising, You do not need to draw blood.

Offer yourself the kindness You have been saving for others; Know that you are built For tenderness;

You are not a stone-walled fort To withstand a siege of swords; You are not a deep ravine With no way out.

My darling, love yourself. Offer yourself unto yourself In the temple of your spirit; You are your own redeemer.

Do not forget the depths of the soul And that all the answers Are a garden growing in yours.

Know you are a warm being And that sooner or later we, Like moths to a flame, will all Be drawn into your orbit;

My darling, Know that you are loved And that even the universe has Spent fourteen billion years Waiting to meet you;

Do not grieve over goodbyes Because it is a blessing Simply to have known you - You, who like a small candle Have given meaning, However brief, to the lives Of others;

Know that though you are strong You were not made invulnerable; You are not a fortress, so Hold fast against the storms and Dig your heels into the ground.

When it is over gather yourself And clean out the cuts; Know your first-aid and administer it. Know that you have done it before And that you can do it again, my darling;

Know that you cry because you are alive And that it tastes so damn sweet When you can finally face yourself And say the words: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’

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This is what love looks like

You love the only way you know how- In extremes - saying either too much Or nothing at all. You have never apologised To anyone for anything. You never say the words: ‘I love you’ When a cool glass of water will suffice. People are starting to suspect That you are not of this world. People are starting to suspect That you rode in on a comet. You will never tell them How you still check the dark for monsters; How you still find them reflected in mirrors; How very much like your father The monsters in you have become. You love the only way you know how - Painfully - because you know love Feels like ripping off a bandaid; Sounds like heavy footsteps and Slamming doors; smells like booze; Looks like the underside of your bed. You know that most nights monsters live At the bottom of a bottle and sleep Next to your mother in the room across the hall. Love is something you have learned to hide from. Your father taught you long ago That love is something to be feared. He taught you that if you’re not hurting, You’re not doing it right.

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Assimilation

There’s a war going on So we move to America. We aren’t refugees. We aren’t the persecuted. We’re just trying to Make it in the world. I want to go to school And become an artist. I want to take a bus Without worrying about Being blown up by a Terrorist. Standard stuff; The stuff you’d want.

My sister assimilates well. Her accent picks up an American ‘twang’. We leave behind our Kurthas and saris With little ceremony. My sister goes to school And eats peanut butter sandwiches. On Halloween she goes trick-or-treating And starts calling 'sweets’ 'candy’; 'Petrol’ becomes 'gas’; 'Biscuits’ are now 'cookies’; 'Aney’ starts to feel like a foreign word.

“Your English is so good!” say those nice, Distant, suburban white folk. “Thanks,” we reply, “It’s our first language. Colonialism and all that.” Suddenly they have nothing to say. They’ve never had to think about that. It makes them uncomfortable That we make it all so Tangible.

There are no the kadés here; no rottis; No pol-sambol-and-parippu. The summer fades into something grey And we are fading with it. I start speaking to myself In Sinhalese. I feel like a fraud. I feel like I am losing myself.

Meanwhile I am trying to get a job But nobody wants to hire A little brown girl. I tell them I have a law degree. They ask me if I have “American Experience™”. In the end I have to volunteer At a charity shop. No pay. I am losing money. My mother can’t understand Why I am not employable. This was never a problem back home. She is convinced it is my fault.

I am falling deeper into depression. I have no friends. All the pretty white girls Look at me like I’m something curious And do not dare approach. I start to wonder if it would help If I acted more like them.

I can’t get used to How quiet this place is. Nobody talks to anybody else. There are no shops with Their doors flung open; Regulars lounging on stools; No loud vendors selling snacks; Just hollow clerks in Air conditioned malls Who ask you how you’re doing And on the in-breath, Pray you won’t respond. Everyone is just trying to get by. They have no time for anything else.

There are no animals on the streets. There are no animals anywhere Except for perfect squirrels And toy dogs on leashes. People pick up their shit And wrap it in little bags. White people are crazy.

I can’t get used to the Absence of sound. On my bed, I listen closely To the silence, trying to Understand. The silence is like a Thick fog. I start to police The volume of my Breath.

I wake up in the morning Wishing it were night. I wake up wishing that I could sleep forever.

Outside, it is raining. All those perfect little houses In neat little rows Blur in the haze. I close my eyes and pretend That the hum of wind Is the sound of the ocean. I am told this is the American Dream. I try to remember what the sun feels like.

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Visit Original Link

This is a slightly updated version of the song; albeit a worse recording. I finally managed to figure out the bridge a little! I recommend headphones as the volume is quite soft. 

Lyrics under the cut.

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Love as an orchard Fruit on the vine O what an abundance What’s yours is mine

Sweet rivers, running Your mouth is the site Of something holy turning Sour with every bite

    We waste so much and call it care     We spill the nectar everywhere     We lose our senses one by one     And gorge ourselves till we grow numb 

Love distended, hungry We starve and we fight The trees have turned to skeletons Lost to our blight

    We only deal in absolutes     Turn up the soil and unearth the roots     Or leave the land to slow decay     The fruit to rot and fall away

Love as an orchard Fruit on the vine O what bitter mouthfuls What’s yours is mine 

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The Restaurant at the End of the Universe

It’s possible that  The universe smells  Like meat because  We’re all cooking in entropy.

If you squint  A Galaxy looks enough  Like a fried egg. 

You got in the bath  And didn’t even notice What was happening  Until there was someone  Cutting vegetables above you  And then it was suddenly Raining onions 

And they had Your mother’s hands And your grandma’s recipe And your father’s eye for business  And your face when you Looked down into the water.

We’ve been left   Unsupervised for millennia, And you know what they say  About too many cooks - 

Basically, we’re a liability.  Better to start from scratch. 

I imagine this is why A lot of prayers go  Unanswered.

If Earth is balmy and Hell is a furnace, Then Heaven must be Freezing. 

Science told us ages ago that We’re really in it now; and  Well, fuck. I’m all out of ideas. How about you? 

It’s too bland for a proverbial Last Supper and I was  Hoping for something  More poignant, y’know?

As far as legacies go This feels pretty anticlimactic. 

Oh well. Ladle some of the  Primordial soup  Over your shoulders  And settle back While they turn up The heat. 

There’s no use in Stressing the  Inevitable. 

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Visit Original Link

Lyrics under the cut

Cut off your nose to spite your face Gouge out your eyes so you don’t have to see The things you wish you could erase Set a forest on fire ‘cause you said you couldn’t see Flood yourself ‘cause you said you were thirsty Dig a little deeper, you’re a well in the desert At some point or another you’re gonna hit water Look at all the succulent cacti - They’re making it So why can’t you? Why can’t you?

I’m not a cactus, I’m just a small bean I need me some love and water to grow You can’t till the soil in a desert And wonder why you’re not taking Oh how much longer will the rain be? I tried to get back into my hobbies But my hobbies seemed so stupid So I sat on the floor and I started to sing And I haven’t heard my voice in twenty-four hours Now isn’t that just the saddest thing?

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Visit Original Link

Lyrics under the cut.

Clear skies bring sunny days  But I’ve been fighting to stay awake  Bright blooms in my empty room  Feels like it’s always been this way 

Bone-deep and butter-mellow Dog days ahead Anchor down to level ground Unmake my unmade bed

Clear-eyed, and a tune I can’t carry Cloudy thoughts drifting over my head  Never mind, I said i was fine  This sort of thing happens most the time 

Wind at the window knocking Branches rocking just like me  April showers bring hours and hours  Of dead time and fields of flowers 

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