Grave

All his poetry sleeps in grave
The day they were buried
and earth was spread on them
they also received some rose-petals...
The petals used to feel comfort in his diary
until the day they were tormented to come out
and rest on the grave.

All his poetry went to grave.
As the ancestral house collapsed
As the bricks fell down one by one
As the mango, tamarind, banyan and peepal
wept for the last time
He gasped
And I too.

That day both of our hearts were heavy.

Lucknow, India

Abaya

I am the sunflower
who does not need any shadow
or the blackish cloud
to hide my face and body;

I do not feel
to avoid the intended male gaze.
A sunflower does not need to find solace
nor comfort under the abaya;
Instead I navigate through the male gaze...
consuming what it intends;

Thus, I stand up straight
gazing at the sun, 
like a sunflower not burnt
confronting the sunlight.
I cherish my own sexuality
And theirs too
By my own free will. 

Lucknow, India