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Text of the page (random words):
ll latch onto the door when the forgetful neighbour walks in wonders what these prayers will bring mysterious vines appear behind the shelves where your gods sit dadi do you think they ll forgive us dadu hasn t called in sick to leave home today the lines on the palm of his hand are disappearing cradled into cow s milk they aren t teaching us to close the circle anymore so when we cross the lines these borders escape into your prayers read in devanagari our phones keep ringing your hunched back is coiled around the cords even when i call you still read lines from the newspaper for safety but no one has returned home in 9 years uncoil us dadi we are stumbling onto paths with the devil father knew to give flowers on the death no one talks about wash your feet with holy water water stained with blood of these roses we walked on when will this silence be quiet dadi forgotten the road to trace these lives forgiveness is pleaded yet we re welcomed with open arms as if the setti in the drawing room doesn t still have his scent on it he isn t coming home dadi our phones will keep ringing we will forget our homes no one has preserved us the salt on your books will remember no sorrow let me forget these prayers dadi find another name to remember share this share on x opens in new window x share on facebook opens in new window facebook share on tumblr opens in new window tumblr share on linkedin opens in new window linkedin share on whatsapp opens in new window whatsapp more email a link to a friend opens in new window email like loading godfather april 14 2020 april 14 2020 kavya chandra 1 comment when the stones are thrusted upon your skull will the patriarch finally ask for his instant gratification there is a gutted stomach on the front porch we walk about as if cigars burn bigger holes in this skin the dogs have left for the forest my funny valentine sweet comic valentine this garnish of salt is terrestrial this smoking habit is an aftertaste to cheap city breeze under the bridge the grime under your nails never washed when the doctor asks if you have been a patient before you nod furiously as if words snatched out of this mouth the broken headlights raved into my funny valentine sweet comic valentine this hospital has cauterized walls these eyes are swollen of this rabble no one barks at us anymore rotten chains hold only a scenic greed let me press your feet wash them with the salt of these wounds so we never ask of a love like ours you tighten cackle as if blood stabbed into this body the aided guard blind liable my funny valentine sweet comic valentine don t spill your sorrows with teeth knocked out share this share on x opens in new window x share on facebook opens in new window facebook share on tumblr opens in new window tumblr share on linkedin opens in new window linkedin share on whatsapp opens in new window whatsapp more email a link to a friend opens in new window email like loading forgotten april 7 2020 april 5 2020 kavya chandra 1 comment i the modern myth the urban legend states of a continuous path of travel where submerged roads cause hindrance not peace and peace is vaguely considered a constant state of happiness and happiness is from sunsets valleys and parks and music here we all forget the cultured disgust the lies we ve proliferated in the name of scientific research our blood is boiling for the approval of bigoted critics my lips are sealed there s been monetary accusations there have been rats asked to leave and forget why do we need ourselves to be explained when will we learn to learn that the production of imbalance is the balance that we need to find hope the incredulity of mistaken identity is this the parallel of definitions that have lined our grenades this country is burning this identity is at stake and yet the refuge is lost on our lips we don t sell love here we don t sell community but there s buyouts on etsy tell me is this what your care looks like is this what love feels like in this country these broken land lines are mines of defeat this movie hall will never turn bright and this tape will never stop reeling our eyes are taped open and the learned men can only tell us two things these lies are true and there is no truth to be told so what can our children believe we talk in languages we cant speak listen to the words we don t understand and call it home call it comfort how do we share knowledge when we don t want to understand are we welcome or is intrusion an excuse is this what home is supposed to mean a bloodbath of exclusion and shame of unfortunate love is this the family we chose when the lord didn t show us any mercy we don t pretend to offer gratuities as we walk down the same halls anymore we don t look up from our broken shoes anymore ii in this city we make parachutes out of screams and use big loud bangs as excuses to create capitalistic chiasms the pertinence of reinforcers overshadows the quiet of the light september is so close to our skins when all of it sheds and we trace linings of pressed leaves hoping the memory of something better someone better will freeze in the winter and we ll find it in the summer and forget about it when the wildflowers grow on our porch again and when we look about like women who ve lost their lives to dead men at sea dead kids on the street to any form of love in the green we steal water milk sugar and tea burn boats so we can t escape trim hedges so we can t see the way of the wind burn fingers and cuts in lemonade hoping someone s words will be knives someone s knives will be the things we can t say and on this island with riches and fruits and gold we ll find holes to dig into to reinforce the soil into our mouth our noses our lungs hoping that buried in the dirt we ll feel a part of something again hoping to see grandma in the silence of the water as we drown ourselves in this potpourri of patriotism and love as we forget to call our homes and plant trees in these cities that never sleep never questioning never answering we don t know how to speak in simple terms share this share on x opens in new window x share on facebook opens in new window facebook share on tumblr opens in new window tumblr share on linkedin opens in new window linkedin share on whatsapp opens in new window whatsapp more email a link to a friend opens in new window email like loading the luxury of community april 6 2020 april 5 2020 kavya chandra leave a comment vehemently a product of catacombs surrounds us within the screams we re inside mouths of burning entities and strictly politically we should ve taped these mouths long ago a yellow crime scene taping cementing how the misshapen shapes in the night nicked a lot more than some fancy crockery as we turn a tender brown in between these broken walls there seems to be nothing that needs to be said and so as we begin talking again i can tell you about the houses i ve marked with hushed whispers in the alley afraid to articulate the claims of custody that belong to this silent brooding of dismay almost a lost child in the house of decay the fallible lining of this burning house as the frames collapse forms the infallible boundaries of our doctrine there may be very little to savage from the bloodied mesh of old men with puncture wounds and sweet crooked teeth that old french women are buried with such an opulent dome of memoirs and yet we find the static of theology here when you touch my sides a warning of calamity i remember who i am again in the face of this war we ve made for ourself the begging the pleading to let the fates accept our lack of sustenance the intimacy of death as we walk through our insides i am reminded of what love feels like when it is more than just a bargain share this share on x opens in new window x share on facebook opens in new window facebook share on tumblr opens in new window tumblr share on linkedin opens in new window linkedin share on whatsapp opens in new window whatsapp more email a link to a friend opens in new window email like loading burial ground april 5 2020 april 5 2020 kavya chandra leave a comment burgundy lines no longer remind you of roses a death forlorn a loved one lost have you found what to live for a lover a mistake a forgetful past my disease doesn t match yours and yet we sit side by side holding each other s arms a look of wonder perhaps a side eyed tunnel into another dimension is this what alice wished to have forgotten these exhibits will never paint our skins on their walls my history your history their history is a nuisance in disguise of comfort when i shudder to cut my sheaths for your needs we call it selfish and occupied but neither of us wants these callous arms listen to us we ve forgotten the park bench the moonshine the lies at this hour scorching heat in the rain our lands never aligned even when all of us were the same we are so polarized in our wants from each other and then wonder why no one listens the silent nights sullen and warm these eyes never traced violence like ours look at us ashamed of our heritage our blood never saying what it was all for my grandma dressed me in a white petticoat when we were home alone letting me climb hills with bruised bones changing my clothes into what was expected when neighbours knocked when will our doors open again when will we see each other not as lost ravens but as confidantes remember them you said but the land is barren where have my dead gone share this share on x opens in new window x share on facebook opens in new window facebook share on tumblr opens in new window tumblr share on linkedin opens in new window linkedin share on whatsapp opens in new window whatsapp more email a link to a friend opens in new window email like loading the hanging december 19 2017 january 10 2018 kavya chandra 18 comments the silent shenanigans hidden behind eyes that swear secrets to their graves seem to lurk off of the ceiling these days and they re telling us to hush up that silence to gulp down the panic rising from our finger tips spreading across our toes gulp it down as it etches closer to the vocal cords before it cuts them off the panic is wildfire within a wildfire and the containment creating a threatening girdle around our necks and our cheeks are stained rouge with our tendons stretched to their extremes shaking comes naturally but we keep steady the contentment is dragged out of our subconsciousness unconscious we re staring at reflections of pale faces gaunt spaces faded lips like a mere impression of what must be people or perhaps what were the secrets are laid out like corpses inside coffins bare brutal crude samples of resources that will never be utilised the silent shenanigans are screamed out of the vocal cords no longer bundled and the shaking shambles our bodies to the ground bodies function in harmony with the hunched fingers of death and its fingers form the noose of panic again it s alright now for our bodies hang from the ceiling our bodies are now dead and the secrets are still safe behind the stench of dying in our heads share this share on x opens in new window x share on facebook opens in new window facebook share on tumblr opens in new window tumblr share on linkedin opens in new window linkedin share on whatsapp opens in new window whatsapp more email a link to a friend opens in new window email like loading rage november 6 2017 january 10 2018 kavya chandra 5 comments come one come all today a new god is born in the cheap streets of a brothel there lies a pack of strings pick your poison carve your sword the riches you demand the women you desire scream your name in praise that strength of worship of namesakes the motels the bars cheap liquor and neon brighten modeled lips which pray in the name of people who sleep alone in their hearts strangers form alliances in the tyranny of deceit a hand held a string snapped tight to the brewery where wishes not people prepare honey mead and things all sweet gods will tell you of a bloody sacrifice men will tell you of faith a child of beauty a demon will speak of love and promises you didn t keep there in the pages of faith and belief lies the secret to demise and to believing men teach men of rage but the fruit of life cannot obey to living men teach men of rage for it is vital to becoming a parade of lonesome men parry each calling his god who breathes fire into his home into his woman and children till there is none but agony and desire to cease share this share on x opens in new window x share on facebook opens in new window facebook share on tumblr opens in new window tumblr share on linkedin opens in new window linkedin share on whatsapp opens in new window whatsapp more email a link to a friend opens in new window email like loading infinity october 17 2017 january 10 2018 kavya chandra 1 comment inspired by the curious case of benjamin button the hummingbird is not just another bird its heart rate s 1 200 beats per minute its wings beat 80 times a second and sometimes you find it flying across the cold sea where soldiers swim into their death and they call it defending their country where the tattoos of a sunken ship corrode into a whirl of their own where you talk until the first ray of light shines and sit alone by the river you lost your mother to sometimes you find a hummingbird fly backwards into the future of tomorrow into the present of today the trees grow trunks houses decay homes are forgotten and people learn to forget the spaces of their laughter lines and the wrinkles of their face lungs collapse eyes close fingers remember the keys of the piano and the line of the dancer strays the mothers the authors the actors in the play forget the comfort of their words and lay resting inside themselves and the hummingbird flies backwards into it into the miracle of sewing a button with your own two hands or learning to grow younger by watching all those you loved die and if you were to stop its wings from beating it would be dead in less than 10 seconds and even though you might find the aching in your bones find another place to live and even if the idea of simply being might seem ordinary it is no ordinary bird it is a frickin miracle when you slow down time and run it backwards when the fruit of life lays barren and lost and no longer ripe no longer whole when you slow down time with moving pictures when you slow down their wings you ll find the symbol of infinity the hummingbird is not just another bird its heart rate s 1 200 beats per minute its wings beat 80 times a second and sometimes you find it flying backwards into the infinity of simply being after being share this share on x opens in new window x share on facebook opens in new window facebook share on tumblr opens in new window tumblr share on linkedin opens in new window linkedin share on whatsapp opens in new window whatsapp more email a link to a friend opens in new window email like loading beyond the sycamore tree september 7 2017 january 15 2018 kavya cha...