Skip to main content


Let us slice into each other
With fine surgical precision

You slash me here
I slash you there
And then
When the storm is done
I will patch you up
And you tuck me up
You bring the bucket
I the mop the blood
And together we will cleanse
Our ancient hurts
Our guilts
And our fears 
Until we start again

And over a cup of coffee
You tell me 
My dear
Just how much you love me
And I shall tell you
Just how much
I love you.


  1. This one rips at the heart! You are spot on. It is so sad what we are capable of doing to each other. Our attempts to repair the damage with iterations of love can sometimes not be enough. Though I do have hope they can with new beginnings!


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog


You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know when you call Just because you needed to cry.

Long Winter Chill

If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache And loneliness bordering the divine. You would have had so many secrets Welling up as in a girly giggle And so few friends who would hear them all. I am no Neruda I can't paint you a Summer breeze Amidst this long winter chill.

That Fluttering of Broken Wings

If you were to cross the road and hurt your toe, I know that I will never know. As we go on to take different roads and move on across different shores, there is something that happens to our relationships. Something that estranges, disconnects, disintegrates. I know that you still think of me. I know this because I find myself thinking about you. And thoughts rarely get seeded on their own. It comes from you to I and from I to you until one of us is alive. Old relationships rarely die. Like broken winged moths, they hang around dark alleys of forgotten memory lanes. Ever so often, I can hear one of them flutter its wings. Not too close but never too far.