the shy circus artist

We helped the circus artist find her new home
a cabaret factory in a damp golden hollow
of Hackney Wick, through bashful streetlights
leaking into puddles of rum and red wine
she is too shy to thank us, we are too happy
to notice. I climb a window, my feet puzzled
into the grill, backpack hanging off a shoulder
like an after-school boy wanting trouble
these are things I would never do back home.
we realize she is German and our ‘Oh’s!’ turn
into ‘Auch’s!’, we take turns to carry her luggage.

later, Aria and I will see the shy circus artist
fly like a balloon suddenly unplugged of
its air against high ceiling beams that
demand atleast the whisper of a prayer.
but by that time, a flame would blossom
from her armpit of fiery lavender and we
will applaud for the shy circus artist because
we were the ones who helped
her find her new home.


Dimitri the hairdresser
had hands soft
like a puckered mouth
about to kiss

cushioning my peeling fingers
the tips still cold in detergent

‘mountains never meet
but people do’

he spoke like a messiah
his eyes sliced happily
like a fresh ripple
in humble waters
not yet settled

I had no wisdom to return
but the smile my mother
taught me
practiced and apologetic.

when your father fell

When you waved from across the room
lips squared in a smile, shawl dropped
in a half embrace around your shoulders
I saw your father fall backwards
maybe not the way you did
maybe he fell on his knees

you wear his shock on his face
when asked a question you
don’t understand, the corners
of your eyes trailing like the streak
of blackness left by a smothered ant
your jaw still clenched with the last
small scoop of his life hesitating to stay

there’s blood on your chin
from the fall you took
rusted like a clumsy birthmark
God’s thumb stubbed
as you winced away perhaps
your collarbones still bold,
excusing yourself from further



I am temporarily closing down my blog and shall return with new pieces some time (hopefully) in the near future. Be good, keep writing. 

For now, I am going to be a lotus.









You must be a lotus, unfolding its petals when the sun rises in the sky, unaffected by the slush where it is born or even the water which sustains it.-Sai Baba