Peaceful nights are 
Awaiting ahead
My momma tells Me 
the whistle man
Is nowhere close by
To take my slumber 
I fall asleep to humid fans
The smell of dust 
And of clothing coming out 
Of suitcases after long days
Not sure when
Wretched heat will take over
I sleep close to a withering body
And a youngster 
Trying to find that thread 
Between reality and peace 
Slowly sinking 
The smell of cooked Bryani 
Hovering over my brown skin 
My belly full
Humid air circulating 
Across the wide bed 
With Limbs splayed 
Here is the hearth 
Where I was born 
Here is the language of 
My ancestors 
Here is the land 
We have drawn blood and arms for
To cleave ourselves from 
The motherland 
To claim a home 
For the downtrodden 
A crescent moon shines in the sky 
The stars hidden still 
By smog and pollution
I know they shine upon 
This green land 
This prideful country 
Still I stay 
In the midst of sleep and wake 
It’s a land far from imagination 
If I just open an old suitcase
I’m once again 
In the place I could’ve been 
Yet I’m farther away now 
Than I’ve ever been 
A blessing 
And a lesson 


Burning Stories

There is a story
Burning in my mind
Screaming to be let
Out of its cage
Yet my pen
Does not convey
The desires I hold
Within my lonely
The books are torn
Shredded to pieces
The pages run
Like tears after mascara has run
The stories are burned
Each savior lost
Traditions mangled
As I turn my threads
To dust
Do you see the pain
You have caused
My dear by
Allowing me to
To imagine
A life
A lonely existence
It is
Without you, to hold you close
My dear
As I close the book
Another fairytale is gone
I must return now
To forced reality
A dream
That will never
Come true
Love is lost.