Allah i got dumped

who is listening to this

song, sometimes opening

that channel on radio to only hear

voices of men singing

only women

walking through desserts

of foreign flowers crowding

streets full of action

dodging those grey-blue petals

falling on me endlessly

peppering already white

black

sequences

don’t bother hiding those

bitter cries in divided rooms

better if you can pray

instead but which room will you

now find me in

i will trace you with

those slippers you keep forgetting

since i cannot

write poetry to help glance at your

moon face Allah hasn’t given

any permission to extract that

perfume from your presence yet

change of scene would mean

arid lands of a tomorrow

becoming dusty and bleak only

fragrance of plastic burning skin

those infinite lands can

give the blessing to become

one with the dump

landfills garbage

but this time not

to sprout a new seeking

to remain within earth of

lowest quality of most

barren places reached by me

Allah my dump went on

for years or it felt like that

to come and really pester

me and let go of that

old mansion with floors

of imagination and expectations

shattering great women

to the grand submission

finally looks and smells too

good to be true and gone forever

your voice floating

from some other side of disappointment

like a bakery on the side

of winding roads leading to

small towns beside a huge mountain

coconuts and cream puffs

will you come back to me you

wandering love

no ustads can bring back to me

you are going to remain thirsty inside

my unfragrant tears vacuum packed

koyels slightly dying rotting inside and out

even seeing that you will never travel to distant lands

and lover you will stay

outside of a field i pray

not to find you anymore in front

just beside me when no one will adore

my ankles or my diminishing curves

scratching your dark skin

just beside me unlike Allah

how else do i call out to your heart?

how else?

when we sat in triangles

refuge was bordering us

our names circling us

our lives kidding us

just the perfect combination

to call upon one who doesn’t belong

one who cannot be real

one who is by definition

among the heartiest and loneliest

-

This poem was published in the collection of digital anthology of queer love poems "My Loves" published by Ghost City Press (2021).

Image of one grave in a small graveyard near Sukhiapokhri, West Bengal, India.