Rad Thorn Red Throne

Sati:

An ugly tradition—

When the husband dies

The widow lights herself on fire

On his funeral pyre.

  But autumn trees do it so beautifully.

The Power of Patience and Imagination

I was lucky enough to be one of those kids who had a tree house. When my younger brother turned eight, I welcomed him into this wonderful space. We played games as we became familiar with the trees, with heights, with birds—with the physical world that watched us grow. Rahul, our youngest brother, sadly though, was born into a world of computers and iPads and video games, where the wifi password…

The Sun doesn't rise and set for me, but I've

Audaciously, accidentally admired his light.

Now, just because I rely on him to stay alive

Doesn't mean I'm allowed to consider him mine.

-

I know it is said you shouldn't stare at the Sun

UV is harmful to structures in the eye.

Why didn't they tell me, "Don't love anyone.

Don’t fly a kite you might lose to the sky."

- 

I had hoped the Sun sprouted just for me

during the daytime, and that in the night

I was the only flower on his mind. Alas,

gone to waste: my heart and my eyesight.

-

Being a girl can actually be good

If you are a forget-me-not or bleeding-heart

Or any shade flower, though she may

Carry a dispirited name, at least

She grows beautifully, independently of the Sun

And most importantly she is

Named after herself

-

Anything but to be a Sun’s flower

Stupid fate

No sense of self-worth or willpower,

Eyes following him as he circles the world, playing the field.

-

How is it possible for me to love someone

I have never touched or held?

For someone who does not belong to me

I carry the burden of a love unparalleled.

-

Like any well-versed sunflower

I hoped for the best but prepared for the worst

Yet my heart breaks as if it is under-rehearsed

Like I’m forever cursed

To be broken and blinded.

-

I know I can't have you; I know my worth.

But what distance more can I put between you and me

Than to descend, hide beneath the face of earth?

Perhaps only through such a peace I can be free

And all I hope is that in my rebirth

I keep my head down, or (better yet)

Be born unable to see.

Painter, an original poem

“Painter”

Only later would I think back

And remember he loved to paint.

I had been prepared to be the canvas.

-

But as soon as I saw

That he was staining my skin

Testing the blackness of his poison

Mixing his toxic con-

fusion

On me

I realized I was not his painting

I was his palette.

-

So my body is blank because

Nothing

Not your sketches of promises

Not even your broad brush strokes of care and attention

Are worth

The shades of unworthiness

The marks of self-doubt

The labels "inferior" and "subordinate"

That you tried to paint on my skin.

-

You are a painter

You are someone's painter.

And she will love you for it.

-

But I would rather be a blank canvas

Than your palette or your painting.

I would rather be anything

But yours.

I'll gamble on a chance that if the next person carries a red umbrella then we'll go on a date.

"You're going back, Riley."

"Back where?"

"I'm the one they want, not you." ~I'm setting you free~

"Well, it's a good thing I don't work for you, otherwise I would have to follow your dumb orders."

"Not gonna let you throw your career away-"

"As we cover up the getaway car I just drove."

"Good point."