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Self-Image Before Birth

They beheld me and I beheld you…

We are locked in each other’s web of

Expectations.

And I’m aroused by the Moon’s piercing light

And I’m blinded by your shadow.

You have eclipsed me

And I cower before your presence.

          While my presence lingers somewhere down there

In the periphery

Hoping to communicate with you

But you are above it all

          In a Heavenly sphere

And I’m stuck here in hellish cubicles

Recording death in its future states…

And yet I have found ways.

To smother death in its Afternoon Siestas

                                                And all it would take to validate me

                                                          Validate me with your lips

                                                          A Kiss!

“Smack!”

A kiss so hard that it leaves me red all over

A kiss so hard my saliva makes iridescent rings with yours

Communicate with lips

          And I’m Rebirthed

          Or Resurfaced

                 From the flood that consumes me

And I’m gurgling                                                   This song so perchance

You hear it                         And                               Validate

                                                                                    Me  

Continuously validate me

               And validate my words

           And keep validating me

Or I will be

An after thought

                To be an after thought

                             Just like birth

                                      Death happens suddenly

And it’s continuous on and on and on

These words aren’t mine

They are borrowed

                                   In blood and all the unseen are the world’s thoughts

                                                          My blood

                                                          My DNA

Unconsciousness

 That gives substance to my words

          But you so closely resemble myself

       That I accept your inability to communicate with me

       And your betrayal 

                     Is comfortable.

© A.R. Minhas 2019

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Become a Simurgh

I feel distant again

It started when I desired to be desired

 

And no one has time to waste

 

I became a Simurgh

Soaring on top of a digital wasteland

 

You can keep your trypophobic flowers

I only smell the sweet pheromones of death

 

Did you hear the outrageous music?

 

It was bright red, like a Sun that gives everything but receives nothing

 

I became a Simurgh again

Because they never rest on the ground

 

They are here only to bring messages

They have no time for your stories

 

Eyes instead of feathers to observe

Not to live

 

There is no living here

 

Only beginnings and Ends

 

The middle is soft and silly

 

Become a Simurgh

 

And leap over the earthly spikes

 

And escape your desire to be loved

 

These are trivial things

 

Become a Simurgh

 

So becoming something doesn’t matter anymore.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

Blackholes

I’m sailing a ship in space,

Because I want to be left alone.

Everyone told me I will drown in the moon.

 

And I’m ok with that.

 

As long as I can have my smoke on that secret porch,

As long as I can feel the sweet comfort of a dark chocolate cake that was left over,

I sometimes imagine your blood is its icing.

I’m colonizing the stars,

Repopulating them with your memories.

At the bottom of the ocean

Pressure conforms—cracking skulls

The sound of opening a can of coke

“Come share with me,”

I’m spilling purple flowers everywhere

Can you imagine a gesture of love drifting alone in space?

 

So peaceful.

At the bottom of the ocean.

Living in Atlantis.

Imaginary like heaven,

All the pain disappears.

Like a memory of that light that was there once,

Like a memory of oxygen…

Everything fades to zero-calories of nothingness.

 

My lungs grow heavy with sulfates

Why don’t you just die here?

“This is a good spot,”

The black hole is right above my head.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2018

She Offers Flowers

She offers us flowers

And I wonder about the milk that was never served

She Offers us Flowers

And all I can think about are your eyes

How I would like to separate the light

The chemicals that split apart

            I fed your love to the children of the street

She offers us flowers

            And her petals lubricate the darkness

I have served my loneliness well

            Indifference is the thing that kills

And you served me flowers

Hungry still

            I devour your Nectar

                        Blood on my gums

My Tongue swirls in the ozone layer

I served your breast on a plate

            By the fireside

                        The ash is your Flowers

Sprinkled in that afternoon

                        Fucking Blue

To keep my fingers

            From the third eye to the other one

She offers us flowers

            And I can only serve you cold meat

If you are my truth,

Then you are my hurt

            I let it bleed

                        A scab that is worn like a battle wound

                                    Mottled entanglement

The flowers are raw

            And I am burnt

If you serve them again

            I have to refuse again

Indifference is the thing.

© A.R. Minhas 2018

I’m Standing Still

I’m standing still

You keep moving on

In my artificial drunkenness

 

I smell the sweet taste of death.

 

Non-existent comforter

 

Wrapped in your left breast

 

Milk gets everywhere

Spilled on afternoon tea

 

Green as you were

 

I’m left pale and broken.

 

“Where is my womb?”

 

I’m left to wonder how cruel I can get

Have you seen my torture lungs?

 

Bronchials inflammed

Shooting with nerves

 

I want to share my fluids.

But not at the price of my company

 

I’m better standing here.

And you all the way there.

 

Our spikes are meant to stab

No comfort in human touch

 

The digital release of my soul.

 

I’ll impregnate you with my thoughts,

Abort me later.

 

You can offer me comfort from the other end of the world

I don’t want your closeness

 

The messiness of attachment

I can only offer you mind-numbing cliches.

 

There is no warmth left anymore

My body is cold

And your hands

Don’t resemble a soul mate.

 

 

©  A.R. Minhas 2018

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 6

This is an excerpt from the novel “Confessions of an Abortion Addict.” The novel is still in progress, and I’m continuing this process with Nanowrimo. I’m currently at 10,000 words, 40,000 to go! This passage might not be sequential and will be subject to additional editing. Thank you!

Two travelers in a civic ride past the countryside. The sun sets low in that perfect glow of nostalgia; a time no one remembers but becomes familiar as winter approaches. In plains of beautiful sight, the trees have accepted that their leaves must fall. Snow accumulates on the ground, frostbitten grass fingers unable to touch. I’m looking out at the window and greeted with overhanging wires, deer warning signs, orange pylons, and windmills. I think about what would happen if humans just disappeared from the face of the earth. Will these things still be there, and if they are, what would they matter?

“You’ve never had fast food before?”

“Never, my mother never allowed it, and I just found it reprehensible.”

“Those golden arches don’t do anything for you?”

“Nope.”

“You really are something aren’t you?”

“I’m sorry I’m so different from what you’re used to,” I said, sounding a lot bitchier than it was intended. I was in a foul mood, and it was spilling everywhere.

“No, no—it’s just no matter whoever you are…you always try fast food, you know? Just because it’s always there and sometimes you’re so broke that’s the only thing you can afford, right?”

“You think I’m broke?”

“No, I meant that generally. But you know everyone is broke at some point, and you don’t come off as a spoiled brat.”

“You don’t have to be rich to be spoilt.”

“Hey, sorry did I say something that is making you say all this? Because you sounded really nice on the phone and you’re the one who said that you’d like to come to the cabin after I said I was going.”

“Listen, I’m sorry…it’s I needed to get out of the city for a little bit.”

“And I was your only option? Fantastic.”

“Thank you for understanding,” I said, unable to apologize or empathize with his situation. I turn to the side of my bag and fumbling for my Dunhills. There are debris of my past lives that are in this bag, and I seem to brush against them every time I slip into its content.

The darkness of that leather purse. The womb. An aspiration that will be squirted into a yellow suckling sounds. Blue-tinged aftermaths, tissue paper, crumpled, cold to antiseptic touch, and swabbed with cotton of human shades. A hollow tube that inserts itself into a pink void. It’s searching for meaning and also destroying it. Ftt! Ftt! fits of crying. Centre of embryonic waves crashing into me, and the waves receding taking parts of me with them. And my fingers like looped knives removing the remaining cigarettes.

Windows slightly opened and my fingers nervous to the frigidity of the atmosphere outside. Nightmares following me on journeys of escaping who I am.

Previous Excerpts:

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 5

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 4

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 3

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 2

Novel: Confessions of an Abortion Addict – Excerpt – Part 1

Confessions of an Abortion Addict

© A.R. Minhas 2017

I’ll Give You A Kiss In My Dreams

These thoughts buried something

Something in your dreams

There is a jar filled with Honey

And I pour it

They create steps

A temple of your heart

Steep conversations

Vegetation will take care of

Cicadas

Heart thumping like pure jet-streams

Azure is shape of my skin

You sit next to me

 

Can you hear them?

 

Who knew that chemical reactions can create longing?

And I’m floating from you just being next to me

“Share a coke?” you ask with carbonated lips

I would share a grasshopper with you

High on protein

Saliva dripping rainbows and you share that secret with me

There are no Banyans close by

Let’s do magic by that Orange shape

Peeling it by toes

Those natural fingertips are delicate to fur touch

And I promised you an apple pie

If you stay close enough

I’ll give you a view

From my chest

Along a withering forest

To my dreams

Just stay close.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

I haven’t felt like this in a long time

 

I shaved my hair to stop the thinning

Recessions

I’m free from your choke hold

You can judge

And I’ll fuck harder than ever before

You will know me

Even if I have to draw velvet circles

With my tongue

That’s how you like it

When your skin goes pale

And I mark it with my overbite impressions

You go green all over

 

Your body covered in black tassels

Brimming with the juice of life

I’ll squeeze even if I don’t like pulp

 

I’ve grown to love your unfiltered bits

That tangy flavor of your body

 

I had forgotten how to love

Then you held me that night

Just like tonight

You held me before

Just in time

When I was about to let go

Tonight I held you

And your perfume held my stare

And if I stared a bit longer

It would’ve been like that feeling again.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017

A Weekend In Spider Country

I’m here

Sitting by the lake

If you can see me now

What do I have to lose?

 

If I wasn’t here it wouldn’t matter

If I’m not here it wouldn’t change you

It wouldn’t change the crystal clear water

 

There is nothing that I can do

Lying here impotent

On red Muskoka chairs

 

No matter how far I travel

Or where I sit

It doesn’t change

 

This unease

I can never get comfortable

 

Feeling useless isn’t unique

But feeling nothing

Is okay

 

Spiders crawling

Bedspread

I try to bleed them but they keep coming back

 

Nesting in my ears

You can hear them

 

 

Constructing a web

Trap the flies

I wish I could trap your eyes

Stroke them with honey

 

This sugar is for you

 

 

And there’s nothing left for me.

Leaving, wouldn’t matter

 

Staying

Is suspended mid-air

 

Floating

 

Spiders make me uncomfortable

 

And that’s why I can’t sit still.

 

© A.R. Minhas 2017