Poetry on her skin.

"1957, one autumn night, she asked me to write poetry on her skin. It was right after I'd kissed her waist and told her how her skin reminded me of paint - of blue seas, white birds, yellow autumn leaves, and red wine, every shade that made her human........."

Dilruba Samandar

"When I was seven, my father and I went on a little trip to a city close by for five days. A mini-vacation to Bologna filled with questions and games. On the fourth day, when we were both tired of the games, I decided to ask him all kinds of questions. There were questions about Shakespeare and Frost, about Pizza and cheese, about answers I'd never gotten in my bedtime stories, and about mom.....

Tomorrow’s a new day.

This one is for new beginnings. Join me as I go through my journey so far and how it has shaped me. If you read this on 31-1/12/2018, which is when this post was written, Happy new year. It goes something like this - "Before I tell you all about my journey, you should know that I am not the son of an army officer who has to wear uniforms and smell like good-byes..."

The smell of trees.

We've spoken about Agastya before, in this post - A new haircut. This poem is based on a very particular line that I wrote for him in that post. It was "He missed his people and the way they smelled like different kinds of trees." Let's talk more about that.....