she stood in the New York winter cold, looking at the dewy haziness shining off the metallic towers and thought instantly of Mordor, but also(and now chuckling to herself), of Karachi. Those early winter mornings bundled in blue cardigan over coffee colored uniform, walking across the long fields hazy with dew settling on the grass in her convent school. It reminded her also of Dubai, but the haze was golden bristling sand in the sun, masquerading around twisted metal and steel sculptures.

One of the other side-effects of diaspora she thought. Not only did it never really leave your genes, but also, you found a little bit of one place in ever other place you ever went. Or maybe, you were so busy trying to make one place less foreign and more like everything else you had ever known, that its own uniqueness was completely lost to you. Unless that is, you moved again, and then the nostalgia would re-shape every dusty mote into a gleaming gold memory you would now long for.


Nomads never really stop longing, do they?


...............................................................
there is poetry my soul sings I cannot hear.
Days when it blazes in vivid reds and yellows,
and days when it sputters and chokes, and barely makes a sound.
........................................................
So much can happen in a space of 2 weeks. To a phoenix soul, it is several lifetimes wrapped in a microcosm.
A thousand soul-crushing deaths. A thousand hopeful re-births, spluttering, fluttering of wings, tentative first steps back into the cruel world.


to the naive, the brave, the wise say,
do not go gentle into that good night.
rage, rage against the dying light.
.................................................
nomad on the grass. nowhere to go. nomad on the floor. no place to call home.
nomad with a heart of stone. nomad all all all alone

.............................................

 all the force of nature contained in one tiny defiant body

if a rivulet goes over barren bare land with enough of the tiny might it holds, it will eventually carve a way and leave an imprint even the cold unfeeling land cannot deny.

 ................................................

Fire in my heart. Fire in my mind.
Heart hammering away at its cage to be free.

Sometimes subdued feelings come in waves.
Sometimes the whole ocean sucks you in and sweeps you away.

Bobbing for breath but each breath lights up my lungs on kerosene.
Can't stay submerged can't come up for air I'm
Caught at the surface
Fire and ocean consuming me whole.