The skies are wilting leaves

Today it rains like petals falling from above

Flowers of heaven shed their eternity

The earth laughs in cyclones and hailstorms

When she claps her hands forests are laid ablaze

The fire slowly subsides when the windows are shut

And doors forget what it was like to be laid bare, naked, open

There are flowers growing inside our minds

Our bones are nature’s kiss

And this flesh is a long lost wish,

Drowning in the reality that comes with it.

Nameera.

Weakening

Teal skies peeling off their skin
Their mouth is dripping with diamonds
They smell like paradise under the yellow sun
The chair is paper, it crumbles beneath my weight
My hair tastes of wood
Orange juice splattered across the counter
A broken hand caressing the flower vase
The floor is water and I slip
I slip until my legs turn into a pair of boats
Land comes to me and I can’t walk anymore

The moon cuts the lightening with her laughter
She is the color of your pale lover tonight
A tangerine suitcase of your vulnerabilities,
I unpack it and your image is complete.

-Nameera.

Daylight

Daylight is the kind of hope fumbling for words simply because you don’t give her enough space to expand her lungs and search for the sun rays like an infant trying to pronounce the alphabet.

She’s waiting on the other end while darkness covers you head to toe, she calls out to you while you lay asleep, possibly. Daylight stuffs her mouth with grapes until her days are sour enough to forget you. She sleeps with her eyes wide open, she dreams about your sleep while you lose it bit by bit. Every night she calls out to you from the shadows. You see demons instead. Every night she weaves epiphanies out of the blankness but you’re too focused on all the things that slowly suck the nectar out of your peace; it’s a withering flower now, bowing low and deep, buried inside its own existence.

What do you do when your own body is a grave that engulfs you whole?

One day you wake up and realize that it’s past midnight. You notice that it’s the hour of the demons, like they say in the movies. You shrug your shoulders, smiling at the odd thought. But isn’t it odd that you’re suddenly awake? Why did sleep arrive in the first place when this was supposed to be the end, you staying awake and wondering all that you are at this moment. Then you think of all those things that happened and died out halfway through. Would it really matter if they hadn’t taken place at all? I mean, it would probably affect your self-growth. But does He have to make growth so hard and giving up so easy? Who is this He I refer to anyway? Then you remind yourself that it was this very prospect of how things usually are that made you want to stand up to them. What if giving up wasn’t easy? What if complaining all the time actually solved all the problems? Would you really be who you are today?

3 AM is not an end, it never will be. It’s the exact moment of finding, oneself, the truth, God, love, sleep – who can tell? It can be anything you want it to be. It’s not the hour of dark things that lurk in the shadows, it’s the hour to wait, to wait for daylight.

Daylight will come, she’s almost here. The grapes were never sour, they were bittersweet and so is your life. Daylight is yours, embrace her too.

Your body isn’t a grave but a precious gift of nature. Flowers grow on it, they grow deep inside you and all around you. If you close your eyes and smile, they bloom. Do you notice how your breath is a sign of so many things, it could be the soft breeze, the harsh winds, the gentle tides, the rustling leaves, buzzing of bees, the plop of a frog, a butterfly flapping its wings, a cats purr and the silent drizzle – the sigh of nature is forever looking to brighten up your day.

You’re not lost, you are home so carry yourself with love and faith.

-Nameera.

Image credits : Unsplash

Moon & Dreams

The moon is a beautiful shade tonight, do you see it fall over that distant darkness?

It’s like she’s offering her shoulders in prayer-

A prayer that becomes our long lost wish

An admixture of paperweight dreams,

My mind and my thoughts keep me running

I’m always on my feet, looking for answers that paint my questions in different hues

I see myself becoming more thoughtful

I see my shadow morph into the sunlight

I feel my senses drowning in yours

I feel, like I never have before.

-Nameera.

Curtains

A perennial shower of peace spreads across my chest

Joy crawls over my body like sticky ants

Their sweet blood infuses with mine

I hear a song these curtains muse~

They’ve been watching me curl up and inside,

They’ve been learning my silent wish;

A lily settles upon my lashes

My fingers extract the elixir that completes me

I tear apart the walls and the couch and the stains

The stains of the waves getting out of control, spinning all over the place

Blue runs deep and high above

The curtains sing your name,

Draw them.

-Nameera.

Image Credit : Unsplash

Staircase to Earth



Hell.

All this time, he spoke to me in varied hues of oranges and reds. He whispered in flames that burned my head, he moved about in a curfew that swept my need for fresh air. I am a tree, with a broken heart carved on my stomach. The knots of insomnia tighten around my thighs until I bleed Eve’s sin. Unholy birds perch upon my nape, they think my darkness is a home they’ll never find again.

Heaven.

The flowers here grow even more cheery while I paint them. They look like promises of something I haven’t seen yet. They whisper poetries that make no sense. The sun shines brighter than before and I can look at it, gaze into its soul. The moonlight becomes a passage to ballroom where love dances with fate. I watch it, I admire it from afar. I’m good here but so far away. Where is it that my bones ache to be?

Earth.

Home. Love. Life. Trauma. Death. So many colors that come without our choosing. If we chose black, white unfurls at the edge of our existence. If we chose red, green finds a way to our heart. We bind prayers upon our foreheads and paint heaven and hell. Our deeds paint us in either of the two. I sleep under a blanket of warmth, I’m in love. My bones don’t ache anymore. My bones say I’m home ~ on earth.

-Nameera.

Maple Syrup

Maple syrup dreams

The garden of roses doused in reds

Buzzing of bees at your kneecap

A handicap desire skips in the middle of my chest

My mouth is a hollow cave

It hollows out on a platform of colorful lies

My paper heart crumbles with laughter

This music makes me love you like never before

I eat rainbows and cherries

My breakfast swells at the hem of my lips

We make love on the dining table

Pour some sugar and some ice

I like my coffee cold and sweet

Smack your lips twice, clenched fists and open windows

The wind and your touch

The dust and your body against mine

Maple syrup dreams, sweet and astonishing

-Nameera.

Open Up

When they say, ‘Open up!’ what I see is the picture of my heart running like a wild goose in a jungle of confusion. It often steps in a puddle of familiarity but slowly, that very puddle begins to wet its feathers in droplets of shame. How could I’ve been so reckless? Did they really need to know that? So on and so forth, goes the troubled web spun by my mind. It’s hard to breathe with the weight of my insignificant over-shared life. I’m a generous listener but not a generous talker and this often puts people in a motion of self-doubt but they’re really not at fault here.

When they say, ‘Open up, you owe it to us after all this time!!’, what I hear is a call for a reason to hold on. Sometimes, it even rains like a warning over my bare head, the drops tapping on my mind to make the move. I still contemplate trust like a child toying with food until it turns cold, sour and hard to penetrate. I’m still the insecure six year old who never grew up, don’t you get it?

When they say, ‘Open up, it’s your last chance’ I hear yet another reason to strike off a name and turn goodbyes into an untitled poem.

Hope in Winters

It’s been so long since I’ve felt this warm. I mean, it’s quite a surprise because winters always infuse my bones with mental sickness and isolation. This time, it was different and different is not always good however this year has to be one of those exceptional ones where nothing great happens but you still feel like you’ve lived a long, peaceful life.

Greatness often becomes a measure for our happiness. Greater the milestone achieved, greater is the joy that comes attached with it.

I find it a shallow means of ‘measuring’ happiness. It can never be scaled. The purity of a moment is derived by the sheer memory of it and how it detaches you from the reality while you smile like an absolute idiot.

2019 has been one such moment for me. I worked on myself and on building a stronger bond with people I love. I tried filling in the empty spaces and I’ve come to terms with things that went askew.

And For the things I couldn’t learn, I hope 2020 will make up for it.

My hands are freezing as I type this, but there’s an uncanny warmth spreading over my chest. I haven’t felt so much peace in ages.

Celestial Boundaries

I’ve allowed
Wormholes to breed
Inside me
Astronauts from
Distant universes
Travel down my
Throat each night
Leaving a scent of
Their cosmos upon
My lips

My shoulders bend
From these weightless
Clouds
A clot of inertia rests
In the back of my
Head

Petals wither
Where your touch
Once bloomed
My ribcage leaks
Stardust
I’m the universe
Exploding in your
Eyes
A deathless hangs
In the midst of our
Tragedy
It’s a black hole
Growing,
Darker
Denser
Deeper

Red is the color of love
Black is the color of eternity.