Day Thirteen- The Game of No True Names 


It’s starts a day before 

I say I can’t in the morning

You say you won’t in the afternoon

-We both can 

I tell you I’m home 

When the sidewalk 

Is where I am

You tell me you’re waiting 

When you’re already gone

I pretend to be forlorn

Five years from today

Is decided by a tomorrow 

The rest of our lives, 

Like the day after 

You call me slut 

And I call you chutiya

And we pretend there wasn’t a bite

To those words 

Some days we play well

Some days we don’t go home 

Quite the same 

I wonder how long we’ll walk away unscathed 

Back and forth in this game

Where we change all the names 

©Yusra 

13.04.2017 

Day Thirteen- for the prompt by the exceptional J.R. Rogue- the game in which we change the names. 

A Glass Of You 

A Glass Of You 

A glass of you 

Just for me 

Would sustain my soul

For eternities 

But I chase you

And I taste you 

Like the traces of fragrance 

That lost its way 

A few faded moonbeams

Forgotten on the earth after

The break of day 

Like fresh water lost in 

The salt of the ocean 

A thought centered by its

Own gravity, in the midst 

Of perpetual motion

No, my heart

You would leave me to starve

And I happily would too

We lovers, seemingly,

Aspire to sink 

And you could nourish me

If you were as real

As substantial 

As the bitter words I drink 

Some nights we pour, 

We smile, and

We down

Some nights, we laugh

And

We 

Drown 

©CM

10.03.2017 

Because beer contains more calories than your love‘- Sumit Goreja

I. Am. Not. 

  

I. Am. Not. 

With those words, could I cease to be?

Would that taut thread we walk, between today and tomorrow

Tatter into nonentity?

Do the separate organs of body too rebel?

Do my muscles know when I tell

Stories, or do they just guide the words, unconcerned

Have I inked only paper? Or has my flesh 

My tendons, my cartilage also

My stories learnt

Are my nuclei content to divide and multiply 

While I lay here, staring at the ceiling in the dark 

Do the cells in me that are reborn know what it is to die 

Half new, half hastily repaired parts 

My arm twitches, lying across my forehead 

My chest heaves with unspeakable things 

Can my alveoli taste the sour tang of fear too? 

Or oblivious, they function imperturbably 

They do not choke on inspiration, as I am wont to do

I. Am. Not. 

Not after tonight 

Oh, my body will still exist 

My skin will wrinkle, my joints will creak

But this hollow left inside, I’d gambled for this 

And I lost 

My axons will revel 

In their tallying synapses 

What never has been can leave 

No lapses 

But I’ll always know how much 

I’ll miss 

©CM 

20.02.2017

Whore 

  

A whore is pointed at 

Not because she sells herself, but

Because she sells herself for 

Far less than she is worth 

Not because she lets a strange man

Paw her breasts for money 

Sweat on her face, grunts between her thighs 

She’s not bad because she’s ‘easy’

We all have prices 

We all have sold ourselves in

Different ways

At different rates 

Some more than others 

But we all get paid eventually

A different wage 

And sometimes

You have to whore yourself

For a lesson learned that 

Will not be forgotten

Can not be denied 

You lie naked on the floor

Next to a man you thought 

you knew like your own skin

And you realize 

That if the price you paid

Was respect lost, then

That price was altogether too high 

Whore
©CM 
14.02.2017

Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. 

Half Past Four 

 

Wax work, soft 

imitation of life 

Posed on a pedestal 

Paused with infinitesimal 

Care 

Every inch measured

Every vein contoured 

To be frozen, decorational,

There 

You left me

To be lifeless all day

Almost real to touch, they sing

Who would’ve thought such a thing 

-so real, just see
But I stay mute, expressionless, on the floor 

Till they fall into little deaths of sleep, at

Half past four 

In that stillness

I breathe 

©CM

12.02.2017

Don’t wait for the night, to come to life. These days are no one’s but yours… 
❤