I stayed on the bedside stand, waiting, waiting, waiting

Eager and rushed, meanwhile your glands are activating

The suckling is so rewarding, to hell with stares

To hell with stares, caring no more about public places

Enzymes confused with hormones, tears and gurgles

you lift up your chest, and determination into your journal

He absently brings the bundle to a cradle into your arms

One process which feeds itself, no law of diminishing returns

I can see you tired, often clumsy, ready to take a fall

Then an energy steps up a perk, ready for the next haul

Soldier like, sipping your anise water, settling the burn

Walk, talk, balk, puke, spooked turn by turn by turn

You built a life, now throbbing with brilliant spells

I stand enchanted, life nurturing life, beating rib cage

You sit cross legged, soon exhaustion is assuaged

Grueling cycles of sleeplessness, curled bodies aligned

I wonder why I would ever invade this abundant design

You have doubts I know, with a pressing urge to quit

That addictive baby smell, hypnotizes you to submit

I step aside, no tantrums, no ounces, no formula shed

Leaving you with your patience

And a curly head breathing at your chest

 

®️©️Kashiana.wordpress.com

NaPoWriMo 2019

an unusual perspective

Is it true, we can only love so much

That love is not a calling, but our prison

Is it fair, we face the weather in submission

That trees and rabbits can be an awakening to your vision

Is it a wonder, we are wanton in life

That deathbed is our place of strife

Is it right, we do not have to despair

That talking to rivers brings us home to care

Is it tiring, we wish for yet exhaust of travel

That moving is only stillness unraveled

Is it kindness, we bring to ourselves with age

That years just collect prayers for our own sage

Is it faith, we use to stoke a thousand fires

That moments of questioning, enable our deepest desires

Is it universal, we make an urge towards the dark

That realization about our inner flow is not just for the lark

Is it magic, we allow our brains what we want it to be

That wrestling with ourselves, allows roles to change

Is it curious, we let scripts define where we go

That writing a different story can help new perspectives

Is it perception, we become the mirror image

That fake is just a secret dwelling for pain

Is it poetic, we preserve elders in rejection

That ignoring those we should honor is our tragedy

Is it funny, we live in an elegant arrangement of life

That humor is just a generous way of self forgiveness

 

®️©️Kashiana.wordpress.com

NaPoWriMo 2019

A list, mundane

Nortre dame

today, Monday

 

I watched you

from the popular

instragrammable location

I watched you

you stood solemn

your usual self

spine erect, as men

women passed through

your inner sanctum

on a journey, finding

selfie focused spirituality

dabbling in conversations

honoring you, your vastness

On the edge of you, weary

you stay inward, meditating

accumulating relics, symbols

for centuries, strengthening

your core, you knew

deep inside, about

fire and impermanence

every moment conscious

of your grandeur, details

miracles tolling

in your bell gongs

walkers around your facade

and within your chapel 

eager to receive, grace

you learned, absorbing

your own inadequacy

your magnificence towering

indifferent spire like

rose windows reaching

for the pure azure above

iconic anchor, to many many

I watched you

 

Inside of me

my own pier

falling apart

dismembered

I stand, disoriented

a field trip, became

a page in history

I watched you fall

wondered why, realized

you were only keeping

your promise to the

Creator, by burning

into the earth, seeding

hope, urging us to awaken

from collective amnesia

 

an ember drifted

with the wind

landed near, my legs

I gave in to my tears

 

a reality show’ed world

watched hypnotized

streaming live, your

ultimate submission

as if, it was the

greatest show on earth

O God, O my God

stuttered the woman 

her hand clenched 

over her mouth

hymns resounded

into the empty ravage

of space, prayers

 

You meanwhile lay purified

in the rubble of your own debris

awaiting sanctuary

in our collective rising

from darkness, emerge

into a golden inferno

just like you

 

 

NaPoWriMo 2019

monologue

 

 

using homonyms and proverbs and playing with the English language

a senior and a mentor, he courageously asked for a date

the question was never about the weather, but whether

he was barking up a wrong tree, unreachable

he insisted, she relented, and yes he got cold feet

no small feat it was to bring her to see spike lee

or eat chips while taking a walk by the sea

a three year journey began, no beating around the bush

this woman had found a place in his simple soul

he was a multi faceted dude, bringing change became

his sole purpose very soon, she could not care less

and was ready to accept, except she wished often

that he wore socks that were a color complement

as a couple, ‘interesting’ was their favorite compliment

valois at hyde park, his then favorite place for steak

that being said, it was she who went on a limb

and put her entire life and career at stake

to cut a long story short, one that everyone has watched

let us pause, learn and give it up for

Barack and Michelle; raise to their friendship

the famous cherry flavored Obama shot

And while we are at it, let us also pray

that as a nation we do not again fall prey

to the current president’s struggles

with heeling and healing

 

 

Things in my broom closet

things that stay, things that sway

like the screams of my body

clasped by your ugliness, my face

like the red knitted scarf, knotted

braided with wild fire and moon drops

like amazing mistakes from my altar

soaked in a jar of blue illuminance

like pieces of luck written on stones

pebbles collected as I stumbled along

like a bottle of shame

gathered into stillness beneath dark corners

like strings of static energy

locked away from my hidden worship of the moon

like instruction charts meant for my impoverished heart

allowing me to sustain my tissue even in ultimate grief

like earthenware bowls of caution

with water gathered from an elevating luna

Luna brings into herself, a reverie of the world

like me, in my witchest moments

she is pulling and pushing

me a rhythmic priestess

she accessible yet distant

shaping into a full bursting self

through to the moment of release

waxing and waning to 29 cycles

I saturate with color and loss

languorous, endowed with light

dancing into cycles of renewal

bleeding of herself into the earth

just yielding to my bountiful body

is magic, just embodying transience

makes me a goddess

 

®️©️Kashiana.wordpress.com

NaPoWriMo 2019

Witchcraft, magic, moon

 

 

 

 

A doily, a dull crocheted symmetry 

Sits on my bedside table, has for months 

It has a fringe and beads woven all through

I notice, a little sentiment threaded into an edge

Just above where I left the coffee cup stain

When the lamp illuminates it, it exudes charisma

An incandescent coziness hums from it’s center

Throwing shadows of joy, onto my face

I can give this up, have so many more

Shapeless now with my careless washing

Just a doily fading into the background

I set aside the tray sitting on it, careless

And gather the threaded mat into my hands

Tickling into my palms are threaded stitches

Acupressure like, the dye passes through me

Awakened, I hear the prayers in every knot

Prayers in every knot, fingers in recitation

As my mother on her rocking chair, sat for hours 

Weaving our lives into bundles of colored yarn

Not just a pastime, she shaped us in these doilies

She shaped us in these doilies, her hands always dancing

In harmony with crochet hooks, and herself

The intricate motions of weaving, healed her

A doily, a dull crocheted symmetry

Sits on my bedside table, will forevermore 

 

©️®️Kashiana.wordpress.com

NaPoWriMo 2019

a dull thing you own – giving it away/destroying it

Choice

I did not choose to be here, did I?

Growing up into my person, was a delight

Because I was worked on, kneaded by and by

In opposition yet proximate were fiction, poetry and fright

My encounters spill over

Loss

I have traveled journeys, not just of places

Embodied within me are bonfire embers, me a

Fascinating stew pot of corners and crevices

Your loss permeated through all my September’s

My encounters spill over

Invitations

I was extended an invitation by the world, permission to go deep

Yet extend broad such that my life radiated across miles

Strangers who cocooned me with lullabies of care and keep

Friends who beckoned my stumbling feet through miles and miles

My encounters spill over

Kinship

I was by definition a compliant first born, embracing

The privilege of my father’s sustained friendship

Guided by my mother’s diaphanous afternoon’s spent lacing

To know their best parts, carrying an advantage bias of kinship

My encounters spill over

Dwellings

I witnessed new dwellings, a continued transition

Anticipation to many conversations, curious and traditional

Meditating on peculiar voices, tracing abundance into ambition

Leaning in such that physical effort was in defiance of the subliminal

My encounters spill over

Being

I am of there, here, of them, others, of then and now

My heart beating in lament for distance and what is not

My mind a chess board of contemplation disrupted by that snowplow

My life perpetual, a continued unraveling of fisherman knots

My encounters spill over

My encounters spill over

 

®️©️Kashiana.wordpress.com

NaPoWriMo 2019

origins of self,emotions

*Aayee basant pala udant

Spring announced with a sneeze, framing a collection of stories that tease.

Cold enough to relish kindness in kesar rice, warmth that has a quality of hands held under a starry night.

Peeling out of an autumnal rust, vigor restored in mustard bursts.

Moments forming in tears on pollen dust, a procession in yellow, elevating lust.

Interrupting unending winter nights forlorn, is a refreshing ceremony of birdsongs.

An intoxicating arrival of ripening fields, an abundant aroma of worship revealed.

Infinite kites streaming perfectly on supple strings,  bursting forth like origami wings.

Desire anew woven into gold; mustard, jasmine, mango, yellow garlands

A resilient kaleidoscopic of turmeric conversations across the Indian heartland

 

*Aayee basant pala udant – with the onset of spring winter bids adieu

®️©️Kashiana.wordpress.com

NaPoWriMo 2019

weather related regional sayings

 

Seemingly obvious, yet difficult to list

my dad’s crisp uniform polished brass stars on epaulets; fear marinated with pride

a metal box with a small brass holder with mama’s jewel trinket; pieces of my heart

the caramel ice cream bowl he refused to share on our first date; still special

the grey tape deck that had a loose play button; impression of my fingers stamped

crumble left overs of my brother’s favorite biscuit cake; an embodiment of life

his ugly school journal with scribbled words; touching it is like feeling him

my son’s precious three dimensional birthday card; gaudily populated with her love

a red resplendent dress gushing with their story; tantalizing with belief

dripping cones at the border of your adulthood; a girl cleaving her life in cities

A ragged blue stuffed toy, a pink podgy bear; my daughter’s friends in strange lands

the cuckoo with a broken beak reluctantly peeping from the clock; inventing change

the stone piggy bank full of pennies and cents; a collection of embarrassing moments

letters of our courtship stuffed into a burlap bag; weighing heavy in vulnerable trust

the Buddha’s in bronze, agate blue, a reclining pose; sitting around self absorbed

 

all of the above; neither  holding on nor letting go

always available just at the edge of courageous memory

always available to pick from

especially on nights like tonight

when I need an unobtrusive excuse

to let the tears flow

 

®️©️Kashiana.wordpress.com

NaPoWriMo2019

about things

 

 

 

 

I was also asked what I will be when I grow up

I have two problems with the question

One -you never grow up you only grow into

Two – I am who I become not what I do

Who did I become, who am I becoming

 

In a world of labels

work practitioner seemed most appropriate

I choose to ride

an iterative learning cycle

How can I be more visionary

less paranoid of proficiency gaps

How do I create a proactive interaction

resurface myself as a listener

How should I appreciate work-life

steer away from a daily goals recital

How will I differentiate performance

separate chaos from passion

 

Continue to push a holistic mission

pause the plummeting

create an organic traction

 

®️©️Kashiana.wordpress.com

NaPoWriMo 2019

Professsional Corporate Jargon