“Attention passengers. The next train arriving is a B train traveling westbound towards Boston College.  Please stand clear of the closing doors."

a man walks into a bar but he looks like a little boy

the bullet hole/ in my brother's chest/ unfolds like a pandora's box

My father speaks in a dismantled language that goes up in  smoke. 

justice—where is justice?

Where voices unite, a chorus strong, / Demanding justice, righting wrong

‘You must bury / yourself / Every three days’ / She said, / ‘Corpses are of / No use

Your grief rots the decades old paint and the lakhri no one bothered to replace. Even across the road, it reeks of death.

I inhale the luxurious scent / of squelched earth / smoking under the sodden leaves

Echoes of your voice ring in my ears / As the world turns scarlet in front of my eyes

I feel my rage, ma, a living thing;/ A beast, caged, like me

All that I’d despicably known / Things I wish I didn’t know–

Skin sticky with perspiration from a long month of June 

What I wish I didn’t know is that when your dear friends whisper the word “psycho” behind your back, you’ll grow up accepting it.

I skip talking to myself for hours / The “me time”, before going to bed

It was not a question one would ask as he did/ With his round glasses at the end of his nose

i quite like the smell of cloves, even more when they're burning/ turning charcoal in front of my eyes

This is a garden, these are my petals; this is my armoring plant

Shut shut let me shut my eyes, for even though / the dawn confiscating the dusk’s shades of greys arrives, / there is no place for me

Sweat beads upon my brow, my shirt begins to cling/ The vile monster's tendrils reach out, adhesive