Oh my God look at that behind
When will sex appeal demand due respect
Beating like a peasant
A few dollar bills
A woman true to the struggle
That many baby mamas feel.
Never there for what we produced
Quick to claim
That's your blood
However where is the love
Job after job
Phone calls few hugs tired thoughts too
Burnt by life
Angered by love
I wonder sometime is there even a heaven up above
Until I find answers
To what I already know
I guess I will on earth inside emotionally and out
Remain by just burnt
Burnt out.
Bent.
Wired.
Wild.
I’m shallow as old trenches.
Oof.
Maybe a pail filled with old cables.
A slab of me in my prime.
Undesirable.
Like the sluggish way sap dries.
Or doesn’t at all in the humidity.
Like dead ladybug tea.
My best times were just that:
Soggy human skin flakes.
Do NOT hurry me,
I keep it simple, stupid...
I know this sucks.
Kannagi, a woman of bravery and loyalty,
Who stepped up to the individuals of royalty.
A woman who symbolises burning morality,
Her husband executed in blood thirsty brutality.
A will of a tamil wife that could not be broken,
Flames and fire in Madurai had spoken.
A will of a tamil woman that could not be broken,
The choice of accusation over truth has woken.
A tear that shed red, honest blood,
No fire nor flame could be extinguished by a flood.
A virtue of a tamil heroine, which boils,
Her husband ashes buried beneath the soils.
Kannagi, the tamil woman of truth and balance,
The torch in her hand burned the Madurai palace.
Kannagi, a woman of bravery and loyalty,
Who stepped up to the individuals of royalty.
Where the temple of books stood still,
Library of Jaffna kept ancient history in Tamil.
1933, is where it was all built by cement and wood.
The pure, white colour of the library was seen beyond good.
Ancient texts, ancient books, were read,
Books of ancient history would rarely been unread.
The library was like a sacred temple of books.
Archaeologists would admire its heavenly and sacred looks.
1981, where chaos was going to start,
Where flames consumed the library's heart.
Mobs of the Sinhalese burnt down Tamil's memories of history,
Whether the ancient books or texts are going to survive, is a mystery?
97,000 books burnt in one single night,
The structure had been ripped off from its tall height.
The pain of losing our history in writing is great loss,
Not a single book or an ancient text or single word couldn't be recovered from this burning loss.
Are you qualified
to comment
Are you predisposed
to care
Can your envy
make it better
When you rip
and then you tear
Sleeping
with the devil
The critic
stirs his pot
Trying to recook
the stew
With all the things
— he’s not
(Dreamsleep: November, 2025)
Burnt orange leaves
Burnt orange skies
Skies streaked with fire
Skies that shimmer dusk
Dusk shadows falling
Dusk winds whisper
Whisper through branches
Whisper over fields
Fields wearing embers
Fields aglow with light
Light dancing softly
Light catching gold
Gold in the treetops
Gold by the riverside
Riverside mirrors the trees
Riverside mirrors the sky
Sky deepening boldly
Sky gathering chill
Chill in the morning
Chill in the breath
Breath held in wonder
Breath scented with spice
Spice in the kitchens
Spice in the air
Air full of promise
Air full of change
Change painted everywhere
Change in every glance
Glance at the maples
Glance at the oaks
Oaks holding color
Oaks set aflame
Aflame with burnt orange
Aflame with autumn’s song
Song of the season
Song in the leaves
Song in the leaves
Burnt orange leaves
You never saw past the glory days of 17.
Because you got sad and thought it a better idea
to hang yourself from the ceiling fan
instead of replacing its burnt-out bulbs.
Bright idea.
Dimming the light of all the candles
whose hearts and souls were trying
to add light to your dark and dismal life.
You were selfish to drop out.
You were selfish to quit.
And
now that you're gone, I can't help but look up
at the light shining down on me from your ceiling fan.
I changed the bulbs.
So why is everything still so dark?
And how do I go about life when my only friend snuffed out my candlelight spark?
Could you come back home, please?
I can't do this without you.
And I might go insane if I have to sit and stare between the cracks in your ceiling blades any longer.
Maybe I'll snap them off,
cut my wrists,
and join you.
Wait,
even though I'm depressed,
I know there are people in my life
that still need me.
That's something I could never get
through
your thick
ing
skull.
Selfish.
Algebra makes me feel stupid.
Equations and inequalities,
algebra makes me feel stupid.
I could have an A in the grade book, but that doesn't mean that I understand.
lost in class, barely turned that in on time.
Algebra makes me feel stupid.
So I drift into my own world.
But at least in my world, I'm not alone.
Algebra makes me feel stupid,
it's not my teacher's fault, but my own.
The problem is, I run on academic validation, more so than food or water,
so I sink.
pretend- and make them think
make them think I know what I am doing,
but I am on the brink.
the brink of failure.
Algebra makes me feel stupid.
once gifted, now barely scraping by.
once impressive
what makes me impressive?
certainly not my ability to solve complex algebraic expressions.
is it my ability to fake it?
to only raise my hand when I know the answer?
Is it too late?
is it too late to know the answers?
too late to say I don't understand and ask questions?
Algebra makes me feel stupid.
once excelling in school, now regular.
A nice, flushed feeling.
Like someone is trying to break into the house.
Then I laugh because they gave up as always!
Drinking coffee to celebrate.
Weeks later.
It’s a little odd and spinning.
I ate pasta and it continued to splatter everywhere on my shirt.
Exciting.
Putting the cup down.
The desk where I should be doing work.
I forgot what I do…
So I do fun things instead.
Like wearing crazy socks.
A nice, flushed feeling.
Continues.
Sipping from my mug.
Cold, iced coffee.
Icy feelings.
Skating around my house,
As if I have a skating rink.
Twilight comes by.
Out of control.
Clap my hands together a single time.
As if that will end this feeling.
But that doesn’t help.
The feeling of helplessness.
Is.
Burnt coffee is still coffee.
I went down the drain once.
As if I was dish water.
Crazy socks, and painting rocks with smiley faces.
The…
Continuum.
Waiting.
Helpless in space.
Donning a space suit and helmet.
Stars and burnt coffee.
Hiding under the bed.
Someone is trying to break into the house.
So I fell asleep.
There once was a gifted child,
Through all their lifetime they smiled,
But a bump in the night,
Came as a fright,
And now they are all but wild.
What a peculiar smell
The kitchen is burnt with the taste of raw chicken and rotten tomatoes
Too many dead flies lay upon the window sill
Waiting to be swept away with the closing of a curtain
And in the middle of the garden
Cucumbers grow from tops the soil under the tree
Inhibited by the broken house
Shelter to only faeries and fawn
Tree house
Broken like everything else around
A pool house
Woven over with ivy and honeysuckle
Where the wild things grow
And the summer can't be found
To the weary, worn path
Cobblestones
No longer stone
Even the birds have gone now
No longer seeking a refuge of the snow
Pool turnt swamp many years ago, now
Covered in the silk of green
Not letting go of the sun
No more pool
I enjoy the burn of the lighter's flame pushed by the wind.
I enjoyed the burn of the one who had made me smitten again.
I enjoyed it while it lasted, just like a cigarette.
You made those quiet tears fall from my eyes,
No one around me, sadness intervened,
As the burgundy sun clung to the eaves
Like ice.Through my heartache, I watched a burnt
Horizon paste darkness against the stars.
A shard of nightfall, a hunter moon, floated
Far past the clouds. I dreamt of death, my eyes
Yearned for light, in that odorless dream
I've always had. Why were you there? Who was
That with you? What words were exchanged? Why do
Tears flood my being suddenly,
when dreaming
Shortens the space between us? My tears flowed
With my heart's song, and my blanket lay sprawled
Beside me like a thirsty grey bat. Still,
Still, still, it flapped away through the crepuscule,
Toward that gold moon, diffusing into cauldrons.
magenta magic
recently escaped eve's skies
darkening to plum
crows caw on the wing
as pink sun turns red-orange
day goes up in flames
mango berry crush
mahogany shadows move
gold clocks go tick tock
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