Tag Archives: give

92. the only one you remember

i knew for a long while that the summer was over and now it really is. i only vaguely remember the way it began: pavements covered in blossom, lounging in the field under the stars, watching sun setting above our heads.

there was majorca.
there, in the evening, i scoured every shop for a memento to give to you. i found a wooden statue, obscurely sexual, sensuous, expressive: two figures entwined in an embrace, their sleek polished bodies holding each other. the male form bent round the female: side view of him, the woman – face on.
you didn’t like it very much and i can’t say i blame you: you had enough trouble reading a spy in the house of love. of all her men, the only one you remember is allan: the one she married, the father figure in her life. what of the others?
 ———- a blank.

can’t say i agree.
i had a dream of the english boy night before last: his birthday party conjured itself in a palace. i was with you of course. then, somehow i was speaking to him. back to you, fawning over the flowers Y’s girl had. and then a girl attendant handed me a huge box of those very flowers. scribbled on the box was “i love you”. from him.

still, those are only dreams. and i don’t mind that.


this field

you can have the whole of me in this field:
i pressed my soul into its loins
and beads of sweat still glisten
on the body learning to tango
in the outpour of rain.

i will surrender only here
so take care not to move even a strand of hair
from beneath the tree where i will lay through my whole life,
as if dying prematurely,
for this is home and i forbid you.

a day will come when spring will open me enough
for sun to shine
into the roots of the old cambridge tree
and open up
the rest of me.


i’ve been writing this poem for a while now and it feels forever unfinished. maybe that’s just me, always a word out, a syllable in. and then i give up and start something else. at the end of the day, however, i always come back to this. and the oldest tree in cambridge.

74. and i am fear, i am love.

notes reverbrate in my head, songs drown in their own chords. words on words, words on words.
and i am fear, i am love.
i’ve been found out.

‘i am yours now
so now i don’t ever have to leave
i’ve been found out
so now i’ll never explore’

and i can’t stop thinking, though you’ve given me no reason to. you’ve been a darling, my precipice of love. 

it is me, it is i.

i’ve betrayed your honest motifs by wanting more, by being unsure. every other girl would be thankful to never have to leave, but i am i. i can only think of all the lands whose flowers won’t open their buds to me, of all the trees that won’t bloom for me.

i am me and this is i.

i want to come and go, spending every morning in your harbour, every night – under the shine of communal stars.
i’m only tender and i’m only young. i can’t go for days without setting bridges on fire.

imma let it burn.

continue to simmer

I glisten like humidity on windows
of brazen memories of not so long ago
and you look through that glass into the night,
presence of my ghost lingering behind
as moonlight shines and stars above you shimmer

I continue to simmer.


this is a poem from so long i don’t care to remember. it was a scribble on a notepad some solitary evening. about Y, of course. i dedicated few poems to X. it was Y that i loved.

and now, here we are: Y has just gotten engaged. the status flashed up as the first notification on my facebook homepage. c’est la vie and i don’t regret it. so long the finger isn’t mine, he can put all the rings on it he wants.

i don’t need a cage, just love, like nectar, flowing freely.
so give me love!

who was it?

who’s been alive in you,
wading in the mesh of liquid wires
through the medleys half-sung and the letters unsent
the nights wasted sleeping
time, like currency, spent

who drew the curtains, left vacant sign
on every window of every door
and begged the world to give you more
than this

who was it?


everybody who has ever been truly loved has that person, that left them because they loved them far too much to let them settle for a rainbow in the sky.

47. claiming the world

what does it feel like to claim and not be claimed?
i used to know.
i remember knowing, living for the memories. and recollections come and go, but it’s been close to never since that was me, claiming the world without giving anything back. and the gold thread of freedom trailed behind me, uscathed, untouched.
now, that thread, ulcerous tail, no longer golden, only appears when there’s a total eclipse of the heart.
it’s my firestarter, the shot signalling a race, a way of loving myself more by loving you less. 

and it’s nothing more than a joke – a special effect amidst an action movie; an actress screaming as ketchup flows from her imaginary wounds.
for you have become my all, mi vida, mi corazon.
you have claimed me, like france claims you again.

tonight, tomorrow, for days on end, you leave me here alone. no X, no Y, no admirers, no other loves. i cut those golden threads leaving only one.
my tarnished freedom. my back-up plan.

and i leave myslef vulnerable to you. to claim.

and maybe all i ever wanted was to be claimed, my rebellions just a show so that when the curtain call was done and i was in my dressing room, all alone, taking the make-up off my face, someone, anyone, would walk in and force me to my knees, making me love them without loving me back. 
and then, i would know what it was like to love a spy in the house of love. 
then, whatever i thought of them would be what the world thought of me and i would feel whatever the world felt after i claimed it.

and none of it would matter, because the world would still be mine.

41. hard to come by

do you still remember those teachers that actually cared? you know, the ones that would give you extra reading material, stay after school to help you with your coursework, or else, turn up to school in the middle of half term to give you that one last revision session?

such teachers are hard to come by. i had one of them. she was amazing. i loved her to bits. and she made me succeed.

i wrote her a letter yesterday. i just felt like i should. it was like a pang of nostalgia echoing my heartbeat. i think that happens sometimes, when you feel like you need to move on but can’t, because melancholy is seeping through the pores of your skin, dripping down in the form of tears down your face. and then, you have to do something about it or hold your peace forever.
i guess i just never was the one for keeping quiet.

she replied within an hour and made my day, my week, my month.

…it would be lovely to see you again but make sure you give me a ring

and so, i hope to see her again soon.
she was the one teacher who i just can’t seem to forget. i guess she must have taught me a lot.

such teachers are hard to come by.