waywardturkeystudentgoth - Tumblr blog

[waywardturkeystudentgoth]

When I talk about tender things, I bite on my tongue when your name taps on my shoulder.

Blood turns into water, and my heart, a pitcher.

[waywardturkeystudentgoth]

Grief is funny

Because the other day

A cricket fan

Compared it to losing a wicket

While I held my dad's blue face

"The match is not over yet"

He consoled me

"Not when the commercial

minute break after an over is

Observed as a

moment of silence"

[waywardturkeystudentgoth]

My grief is helpless.

It's the protective equipment that'll never reach a crematorium with overworked underpaid Dalits.

It's the burning bokehs on the rugged satellite image of my country. A journalist will die while accounting for unrecorded deaths.

It's a grave that will fit 4 bodies in one. Death will be overcrowded. And hasty. Grieving families will envy the hands that hold their lungs while they gasp for breath.

It will be the dry branches I give to my neighbor from the jamun tree my grandpa planted to celebrate my birth. I won't have exclusive last rites on them.

It will be the eternal flame of peace in Oslo. It will burn every cold hearted decade that comes in it's way.

It will witness humanity's marriage to death. This agni won't be holy, it'll be a frantic mayday to our ancestors. Help will reach an hour late.

My grief is not helpless, it's fuming at the apathy. But how would a poem point fingers when the world pretends falls flat on it's collapsed ribs.

It torched an inferno out of your pain too, didn't it?

[waywardturkeystudentgoth]

There was a fake aquarium nestled in our old table fan. Everytime it worked at full speed, a neon led light glowed behind the paper strip painted with two goldfish. As a kid, I was fascinated by the fish's energy, and how it went round and round throughout the night while seven of us slept on the hard floor. Now I see the thick black line that appears on the glass display every 30 seconds as glaring mockery.

Poverty is a carousel ride I wish I never sat on, now I find metaphors to run past it tangentially. The amusement park builds a children's ride near my severed head.