Take away my face,
My name
And what am I?
Would you still recognise me?
Strip off my flesh and bones
And what am I but my soul?
Made of sands of time
And sculpted by heartbreaks and grief ,
Defined by choices and enriched by love
Never incomplete yet never whole
Time is a whirlwind,Unstoppable;
And so am I,
I am never the person I was
When you last flipped your hourglass
I have grown
Or perhaps scattered like those grains of sand
So you could wear my skin
And yet be no where close to being like me
So you could draw by memory every contour of my face
And yet fail to know me

The art of war


I have always been distrustful,
Skeptical of people’s affections and intentions
Less because of the arrows along my spine
And more because of my rose-coloured eyes,
Discoloured now;
But I have learnt to trust
Not them,
Myself,that no betrayal would break me
My corporality is not built upon the mosaics of their being

I have always been territorial,
Ferociously protective of what is mine
And look how those demarcative thorns
Marred  the beauty
So I learnt to lower the weapons
But I havn’t forgotten the art of war
I will destroy you
If you cross the line