In the Valley that Day

Jawless face, a frilled beauty of your body finning in the blue water. Skull roof of a moment of bones, slowly shifting within our bright bodies while we wade through our schooling tide of conflict.

A Vulture’s Bone

When flowers bowed their heads for night and hell heaved from infants’ lungs, finger pads pressed on beveled holes along a vulture’s bone.


The mast tied upon my back, I trust the wind much more than my hungry ear tilted to a far horizon to devour the siren’s call

Blood Journeys

Manto too left on a long journey, all the way, from his beloved Bombay to the other side, Karachi, Lahore, only to die there, of a broken spirit.