THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I told her, grow from me mother

Mine will birth you a new

Mount thyself on my back….

Grip and let bleed

And sip back that,

which flows and marks your face

Do not weep for the flowing scarlet on mine..

Hold…

How will I heal ? You ask…

When every time I wake

I see you lessen…

In both form and heart.

Hold it firm I will

Lend out every hand forced to places insecure..

It is me mother, hold!

Peep! One after the other

And see…though the resemblance is inevitable, but it’s me

I’m more you…

Than even you…

Tell me

Tell me…if the gust pierces more than it should

I will fill all that inside till veins, blue.

Hold mother, hold.

I am but the native…

To the shores of your womb.

Not of those shoulders unreliable…

Hold mother, hold.

It is me, hold.

Clutch hard…

Do not worry for the blemishes developing on mine

Let us erase those first,

Chiseled in your young heart.

Mother....

It is me...

Hold.