How Many Countries Does The Indus Cross by Akhil Katyal My rating: 5 of 5 stars Sitting dumbfounded after having read this whole book in one go. Such a conundrum. Should I take bite-sized morsels and leave some for later? Or ask for the avalanche? The avalanche. Always the drowning. Always the surrender. As […]
Category: Wordwhoring
My own writing. Some well-versed pieces of prose and then some not so, as well as random ramblings, intense insights, backward glances, and some very painful but important evocations.
Your name is zikr
“Shy goddess, My love, my one. Your name is zikr – My chest tightens.” Love replies, “It tightens. You should open quietly, to let the birds out. Hear yourself.”
It is very quiet, very tender today
Lover look, it is finally overcast The sky is heavy-bosomed Breasts burdened with unfed milk Four o’clock is six o’clock, five-thirty is seven The light closes so softly on the day Everywhere the trees wait, wait Birdsong minimises to a hush Snakes seek respite in the dank dark of fallen leaves There are goosebumps […]
Vulnerability is my superpower
Day One: Lately, I find myself gravitating towards the music of women, books written by women, the poetry of women, women-centred films, information about and by women. I find my world become calmer. Stronger. More inspired. Hope flowers. Day Two: Do you remember reading that thing saying, “Do one thing every day that scares […]
Postcards from Istanbul /10
“She broke up with Hao-hao, but he always tracked her down. Called her… Begged her to come back… Again and again. As if under a spell or hypnotized… She couldn’t escape. She always came back.” – Millenium Mambo 千禧曼波 (Hou Hsiao-Hsien 2001) This is the last of the nights I will spend here in […]
Your name in my mouth
Where can I go with your name in my mouth? It has sewn me shut with no word to offer. I cannot, anymore, ask for a cup of tea, Say hello when I pick up the phone, Respond to my own name called out. I am the dumb mute that denies the world. To say […]
Postcards from Istanbul /9
“You are always my concern. Nothing has happened to me to make me suddenly think more intensely of you… you, beautiful things and gloomy things are spread over my fleeting days” – Ingeborg Bachmann to Paul Celan May 1949 (unreceived letter) Mosaics are works of art comprising thousands of broken pieces. They are perfect symbols […]
