one of eight mouths

rain, they say, is the heaven pouring blessings. when i was a child, it means flood, tickling my chubby ankles, choking my father’s chest once. it means waiting for free food rations and escaped shrimps from spilling ponds. it is a memorised, annual struggle. a sweet, repeating chapter of our wooden, dining table (too smallContinue reading “one of eight mouths”

wait on wheat

ebb and flow goes the salty, blue sea, how many seashells has it robbed from thee? may they be conch filled with your childhood dreams, or the prayers of your aged-mind’s streams, may they be shell-hearts you’ve always long to hold, too sharp to touch, too tough to mold, or perhaps a silent wish yourContinue reading “wait on wheat”

praying nets

mix mud and heavy raindrops, a murky puddle void of the skill to mirror even the slightest silhouette, pour some more, pour some more, until it overpours into a snake-shaped waterway flowing gently in May, in a rugged rush on monsoon days, either way, on it, lays the floating wood and men with paddle armsContinue reading “praying nets”

come in, June

Come in. I am sorry for the lack of energy, would you like some lukewarm tea? Well, we are tired zombies, avoiding (or wait- ing) for the wind of death, we are suffocated not by the unseen killer but the cruel knee on our throat for centuries, (we chose to close our eyes on) well,Continue reading “come in, June”

hopping inside a wonderland

if i should have a chosen pet perhaps it will be a little bunny, (i once had one, but she died just after day one choked on a loaf bread my dumb 18-year-old mind foolishly fed it; rest in peace, mogu, i still feel sorry for what i did to you) running around my beige-tiledContinue reading “hopping inside a wonderland”

if only my blanket can speak

rarely do i dream, or perhaps remember my private drama series playing under the consciousness i can not deliberately reach, though when i was able to grasp some bits of pieces of an already fading mid- night memory it will always involve a plane crash- ing (with full hollywood exaggerated effects of giant smoke andContinue reading “if only my blanket can speak”

love in the time of coronavirus

Our love in the time of coronavirus is thousands of miles away, my tourist visa got cancelled before it sees the light of another Indian day, his feet are planted, prohibited to fly to Malaysia’s sky, because it is safer that way, in the end, perhaps, nation gates are needed to be locked to keepContinue reading “love in the time of coronavirus”

variations of the word uprooting

as a toddler these chubby set of tiny toes were buried in brown cake of forest’s earth, as the plump fingers reach out for blood-red wild berries, as a student these leather-covered soles wandered through cemented schools, universities, as the mind gulps data after data, oh so, committedly, as a two-decade lady these desperate feetContinue reading “variations of the word uprooting”

soft arms and midnight crumbs

soft arms of dawn sneaks in between half-closed bedroom blinds, (wake up, wake up) infant sunshine sweeps leftover crumbs of late stars’ snack, (come back, come back) i sat, unmoving, inside the swaying boat of an ended dream, (wishing, wishing) our sheet isn’t empty of you. — 01.29.2020 ©2019 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Continue reading “soft arms and midnight crumbs”

wish come true

You are asking why I haven’t been writing lately about love, well, it’s because you do not utter a wish every night once you can already hold it with your bare hands. So why I haven’t been writing about love it’s because I already have you. r. c. gonzales – roy | page 138 ofContinue reading “wish come true”