In my library there are 6 books

1.

I was born in the ocean,

it was night

there was a light breeze

I know this is not true

because my mother can't swim,

but when I close my eyes

and click my heels

I see only gentle waves

draped in a midnight moon.

I don't know

what this means.

Or the kind of man

it makes me

All I know is that

when I'm at sea-level

everything makes sense

2.

To the girls who will

fall in love with me,

take note.

I will love you

violently,

absolutely

and without compromise.

today, tomorrow

and maybe the day after

What I mean is

the Star Trek laser gun

of my undying affection

is set to incinerate.

What I mean is

kiss me on the cheek

and I'll shine so bright

I'd roast a turkey at twenty paces.

What I mean is

I'm afraid my hands

are too big

to carry you safely

What I mean is

I don't know how to love at an even burn.

But some day I might just open a door

and be able to love you

everyday

every time

and everywhere.

But for now please understand

that when you are in front of me

I hear only the sweetest violin music

3.

The first girl I ever loved

was on the Disney Channel.

in the grey hours of morning

I'd lay there among yesterdays toys

waiting for her smile

her teeth jagged

on my CRT screen,

she flips her Technicolor hair

then rolls out

the anthropomorphised rodent messiah

that I had to worship

to prove my love to her

You see,

my seven-year old heart

was a sucker

for prepackaged escapism

in a sundress

so I accepted the Mouse

into my soul

and I preached his word

on the playground

M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-E

I chanted,

a child soldier on a crusade,

Donald Duck water-bottle

held like a scimitar

I lead my school-yard congregation

in prime-time prayer

But then she started seeing her co-host

and I switched to the Cartoon Network,

You see

I learned what love was, Mickey.

It's a rat-faced lie we all tell.

And I'll never forget my first time.

4.

You asked me where I got this t-shirt

I took a trip outside of myself

and it was all I came back with

5.

When I was a little boy

I danced with God.

He told me stories

and gave me heroes to play with

but in my dance I spun away

and found the song of the universe

to be louder than the words on the page

The melody is old

and hard to hear

over the roaring thunder

but it begs us to remember

that somewhere,

something incredible

is waiting to be known

that we're all

waiting to be known

and for small things like us

the vastness is bearable

only through love.

6.

I am continually amazed

by the ongoing process of being human.

All of you amaze me,

you wonderful machines.

all cheekbones and elbows

and tangled balls of string

If these fingers were nimble enough

I'd rip myself apart

layer by layer

exposing the sacred chaos

and tiny infinities

that live inside you.

I'd do it every night.

Standing on rooftops and flagpoles

with a marching band and fireworks

screaming through a megaphone

putting all my gears and levers

on display

till my my eyes are steeped

in burning flowers

and the choking floodwaters

fall beneath my chest

Then I'd step back

and ask for your name.

"My name is Praveen," I'd say

"Take my hand. There's something I need to show you."

 

This poem starts with 3 disclaimers

        And an exclamation

1. In my short adult life, I have watched too many genocides play out at a distance to be able to tell the difference between near…and far…anymore

2. I know that the plural term for genocide is genocides, because I keep having to use it in sentences. This genocide. Those genocides. Our genocides. Your genocide.

3. I am not Arab, or Syrian, Or Lebanese, Or Tutsi Or Uyghur,Or Yazidi,Or Darfuri, Or Bosnian, Or Kurdish, Or East Timorese, Or Jewish, Or palestininian or Rohingya. I was not Sri Lankan enough to be there when my people’s own, bespoke, genocide happened, and ended. This poem is a reflection, a catharsis, an apotheosis of avarice,malice and vitriol from a bit too comfortable Subang kid who can’t look away anymore

And now an exclamation;   

Let this poem radicalise you.

They say there is no place

for anger here

That anger will smear

The line drawn in the sand

Jeapordize 

A Precarious situation

Like its so simple

Like we’re paying jenga

They speak like our anger

Is fire-wild and savage

But our anger is swords 

Scalpels

Razor sharp claws

A needle tipped storm

Darkening their horizon

Leave your anger at home

They say

Leave your red-eyed,

Tightly-clenched,

Fully-loaded

Sharpened

Honed,

Six shooter,

Earth shaking

Bass boosted

Too Loud

TOO BIG

TOO PAINFUL TO HOLD

TOO BRIGHT TO BEHOLD

RAGE 

At home

They say

Like it is baggage

That wont fit

in the overhead compartment

Then I say

       What is your anger for?

               Why does it exist

What are you cultivating

In your inner garden?

Why have you

bled into it’s earth

watering

an orchard of words

like missile silos?

To blindly praise the sun?

                  To shield grazing sheep?

                          Personality To sleep?

in their sheathes?

Till you sleep?

in the dirt?

next to them

Why lead an observed life

If you can’t observe the pain

They’re trying to erase? 

What is your anger for

If not to explode

A mushroom cloud beacon

Shining bright

For those who

have been exploding

for seventy five years

SEVENTY FIVE YEARS

That is a number that doesn’t make

Sense

Pain shouldn't have a lifespan 

Longer than the people

Who birthed it

There is no sense

I am looking between each lie 

And in shell shocked eyes

For the sense 

there is no sense

In this genocide

Those genocides

Our genocides

Their genocides

Your genocide

We live in a shared illusion

That this world

Is fair, and just

In exchange for the illusion

of peace

We surrender the right

To Truth

In exchange

For peace

We have let a cancer 

grow in our chest

So

What is your anger for

If not for this.

If not to cut out the cancer

If not for the light of truth

So let this poem radicalise you.

As I have it’s writing radicalise me

Let nothing stop the swing 

Of your sword arm

Wielding your barbed tongues

Honed to a fine edge

CUT THEM

Cut them deeply

Make them bleed 

their own blood

Instead of the 

blood of the weak

Let them know 

Its colour

Let them know

It's the color of fear

CUT THEM

Cut deep enough 

To see what they are

To show them what they are

creatures of fear

Playing at dress-up evil

Creatures of greed

Cosplaying power

Small things

Aping divinity

Painting over

Righteous fury

With the colors of hate

CUT THEM

So they know  their skin

Is soft  and brittle 

Like bible paper

Rip every lie

Out of its cover

And lay it bare

Bear down on it 

With the fire

Burning from your palms

Held outstretched

Dig your toes

Into the sand

And shine

I hope

That when the last 

torch bearing hand falls

Yours, and mine

Will be there to grab it

Before it’s quenched 

In bloodied mud

I hope

In the midst 

Of the avalanche

Of genocides

Of smallness

And fear

That you reach

for anger

Before you reach

for despair

It will take all of us

And everything of us

But it will be worth it

So let this 

Moment

Radicalise you 

Howl 2.0

 Howl 

Silently, 

you come to me

a weave of fingers 

like a lace net

Cast into 

the darkness

to catch me 

before I fall

Quickly,

You find me

Bare toes 

on frozen grass

Each step

a secret song

written out

On a bed 

of wild-flowers

Gasping,

You tumble into me

Twisting your back

To miss the fall

Of my gaze

Howling,

You bring me pain,

Dressed as a pebble

Gripped between

your tongue

And teeth

Let me devour it

and suckle 

On its hard seed

cradle it on my lips

like the slick

deep, taste of wine

Of razor blades

in honey-spice

As we turn sour

In the lantern-light

Let me bite into it

gently

and pull back it’s skin

Like i'm turning 

the pages of a book,

To read the rest

of our story

When it is done,

we will spread out,

like wet lightning,

emptied and electric

and warm our hands

by the fire.

We will cast

our shadows

across the earth

toss our coals

like spears,

into the living flame

And ride

it’s dance

into heaven

like little deaths,

like a held breath.

like broken crowns

on the heads

of broken kings

Striding.

Searching.

Heavy and Lost.

O candle-wick love,

and knife in my heart

O salt-stone,

and bread of my table

Still your hurried pace

And look to the sky

For we are wolves tonight

Long of eye,

And silver’d fangs

howling for flesh

and dreaming of stars.

The water will spill

 The boy sits

with a cup of water.

The cup is his,

the water is a lake

his hands are cold

like winter nests

In the tallest trees

The birds have left long ago

Leaving only the frozen sticks

He calls his fingers

He checks the glass,

And it is assuredly still

He is assuredly still

The day will come

When he has to refill the cup

When the lake runs dry

He will chase errant rain clouds

Through the vast chambers

echoing caves, the byzantine pathways

He longs for the days

When his feet will 

wake the dust 

of this old house

But for now

He is assuredly still

For he must be

The day will come

When the gods will stomp

And snarl

And play their games

And shake the branches

Till there are tiny holes in his walls

They will blow razor wind storms

Across the waters surface

Birthing waves 

too big for the boy to hold

A wake of swords 

Slashing at the cup

For the water is a lake

And it is not his

They will send teeth

Sharp teeth loud teeth

Winged teeth

To eat his chest open

And he cannot use his hands 

To shield the rooms 

Where he has hidden

Every quiet page

The water will spill

The water will always spill

When it gets loud

His hands will shake

And the water will spill

With fear, with rage

His hands will shake

The world

Will shake

And the water will spill

Outside the rain 

Is fighting to get in

But he cannot get up 

To open the doors

The vultures have pecked 

The doorknobs away

So the boy chases the rain 

through each room

Each blind corridor

The only thing showing him the way

Is the smell of wet tar, petrichor

And the music of tin roofs

Echoing in the too-quiet night

Where have the birds flown off too

Their song used to warm him

Where is the voice of his mother

Where is the candle fire

the wooden bookends,

And the stories they sang to him

Where is the smell of coffee

Not for him, cos he's too young

But he likes to witness

The way the dark and light

Mix together to make a color

That perfectly means home

Where is the sweet smoke

The eating of light

The hard made soft

The rainy sundays

Spent reading skin

From page to page

Where are the words of god

They printed on thin paper

For the ink stains his hands

Too deeply

And they must be still

The water will spill

And he has to tell god

But he has searched 

Through all these empty rooms

The boy chases god through each room

Each blind corridor

The only thing showing him the way

Is the sound of death, greed, fear

And the smell of cheap incense

But all he finds

Are half-made statues

Wearing his name

Their words are empty

Their cups are empty

They sing with ears of dirt

And mud

They trace the words on the page

with hearts of Nafs

instead of fingers and eyes

These birds sing empty songs

To empty nests

Thinking they have 

Stopped the sky from falling

But the boy has a cup

And the water is going to spill

But he, is assuredly still

Wild thing

 Call me a wild thing,

find me in the root

 at the base of

the old willow tree

Steeped in a shock

of wildflowers

up to my chest

burning bright

with a smile 

Call me a wild thing

where I built a house 

out of cherry tree wood

fingers stained red

I hid there 

till the wind was still

as mushrooms

as lilacs

as blueberries

Hiding from the hurricane

of razor blades

the shower of poppy seeds

the stolen breaths

between and in-between

Call me a wild thing

when my howl rings

on the moon-silver marshes

my steps tracing

a line in the earth

Stirring a dance of embers

Into a wild dervish

Of hands seeking god

Face tilted slightly

One eye towards the sun

One eye for the earth

ears listening for thunder

Call me a wild thing

O sweet one

O gentle blossom

O lantern of my soul

Sleep now

In the cherry tree house

I have built you

a bed of feathers

I have plucked from

the highest nests

Come home to me, 

sit by my fire

and rest gently

As you fall asleep

You call me a wild thing

And for the first time 

I believe you

 

*obligatory Death Cab reference*

(sung)"Who's gonna watch you die?"

Is a line from a death cab song
but it blinds me
like a neon sign
shining yellow

through dusty window glass

into the quiet dark
asking me
"what do you mean?"

Not mean like there
was a verbal misunderstanding
between us
but mean like purpose
like what is this amalgamation
of nothing finished,
of half written truths
and left-hand wisdom

in the shape of  a man
supposed to be

Like it was asking me
what I was going to die for
someday

Now,
resonance occurs
when two vibrating bodies
oscillate at the same frequency
Their waveforms meet
and each is left a little stronger for it

And this question

from the street lamps
resonated within me
and was reflected
and magnified
like a voice
from the bottom of a dry well,
a voice I haven't heard
in a while

(sung)"Who's gonna watch you die?"

Who

Like who will be there at the end,
standing proud as the
anthropomorphised outcome
of every choice you have ever made

Who as in who will care enough to
wait the countless hours
for your pointless existence to
run down
for that last burst
of electrochemical potential
to drain back into the cosmos
and mourn the space
you left in the world

Who will remember
that you were just
a fragment ofthe universe 

observing itself
from a different angle.
And all that ended
was a point of view.

Watch
Like who's going to watch you live?
What will be their contribution
to your song
How will their existence
curve your path
For when they walk next to you
you can do nothing
but harmonize
even if that means
you have to change
your tune.

Who
like who trusted you enough to
believe that the colors you thought
only you could see
were real
and in time began to see them too?
Who would love you enough

to let your madness
become theirs

cos for small things like us

this madness is bearable

only through love.

Die.
Like did you bring joy?
Like was there less
empowered fear
in the world because
you existed in it?
Like did you contribute
enough to the human chapter
and will the words
that trace your path
across the page
hold the reader's
gaze till the very end

And when you read them again,
will you recognize yourself?

Die.
Like will the
nutrients your body 

gives back to the earth
be more valuable 

than the imprint
your mind leaves
in the sky
that holds everything
together

Like an errant note
hastily thrust
into the last measures
of an ageless song.

Will that note simper,
and fade
or will it reinforce
the vibrations
drop-kick the melody,
rouse the orchestra
making it brighter,
sharper
clearer
louder
shaking the wood from walls
the nails from your fingertips
your toes dug deep into the sand
sending ripples to every ship
on the horizon

Reminding everyone
on this majestic journey
that the land behind the sun
shines from inside their chest
that the music of the spheres
plays to the beat
of their stomping feet

That the balance they seek
lives in the  endless dance
of particles like
dust-motes and embers
climbing to the sky
on the last breath
of a dying fire

Tell them
To never fear the darkness
or the storm
For it was the storm
that shook the branches
rocking us to sleep each night
And it was darkness
that held us safe
in it's arms till
we were ready to
to become light

Tell them
to never stop burning
combusting
incinerating
illuminating

cascading
into the corners of every room
to the edges of the night sky

Be the sacred pillar of flame
marking the boundaries
between truth and wisdom
freedom and fear

be the wonder,
magic
and endless fireworks
in every child'e eye

but also
may you be happy

may you be at peace

and find joy

in wind chimes

and sea turtles

and a big brass horn section

that plays

at the end of the movie

Hold my hand, 

o lamp of my soul,

and keep me company

I will shower 

you with kisses

and finally

sleep softly

Tempo

It is steady
the drum
the step
the heart beat thump
the flailing arms
the scratching chains
on lime green tile
cold, sharp,
and unbearably lost

It is bright
the stray voices
the shadows you've become
the faint web of moonlight
weaving thread unseen
in the crescent of eyes
searching the dim dark
for the dying embers
of a fire
you once knew

It is gentle
the dust
the old stones
the promise of rain
the softness of hair
that falls on your face
and in the infinite space
within each ebony strand
I find and lose
everything