Home ravage like-
the flames of
a burning coal
lurking in one’s shadow.
Father’s right palm &
mother’s left eye knows this tale like a crude poem.
Home is a knife
ripping desires into scattered stars.
blood is a nude way to sing the songs of
Home is a blanket of chillies,
the taste of women’s disagreement,
the ashes of a receding cigar
the pale paint of our broken city wall.
Home drips pint
of love in its wake-
like the fusing pieces of mosaic,
Home stands between widowed laughter and
heart poking shadows of the night.