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In between the leaves recuperating on the boughs, serrating the pure backdrop of the firmaments, the gossiping birds hop from one twig to another flailing at the deaf world that won’t oblige

hope tucked in the distanced engagements / the
anniversaries / the successful fundraisings
/ the crowd of courses / the dullness of indoors
/ the cracking of dawn / the dimming of dusk

between reality and fantasy
we see zilch swimming the sea
the depth of faith flows
towards confluence of cognition

Yet you won’t be one to die before your time,
after all Abraham’s your father
and Chapter’s cook is your mother.

between reality and fantasy
we see zilch swimming the sea
the depth of faith flows
towards confluence of cognition

the world is now a potter’s field filled with faultless death
of free men, it now whispers into the wind’s weary ears,
a song of forlornness/death/pain/torment and despair

we, zoom into
everything zoom-able as they are a brief consolation of a fulfilling
life, make do with the crumbs leftover from our nightmares,

yesterday, a man died & was laid with unspoken prayers.
they say families come together to show love & say goodbye to loved ones,

That every song of poor mothers
Has two verses—an imprecation for democracy’s
Bearded reptiles & an elegy

our country has since stalled into a go slow.
around me, sealed shops & empty buildings stretch
lifeless for miles, monuments of a once-alive city