Existence

turfs of phlegm green
sprouting rhinestones of cashew-pale
like creases in lips is the stretch of land:
glossy, nestling, and intimate
the ovaries of nature mumble
a singsong glissando of growth
I am reminded of a flâneuse in 2016,
rose-gold satkonas swing in her ears
as she exclaims, "I like the clothes
of your country!"
and asks, "this Kurti suits me, right?"
her undulating Australian aspirations
surge like flashing silhouettes of
her exotic skin embellished in a Pakistani Kurti
I nod, as my mind engulfs itself
into the sunset sky, soft like curd afloat
in pale lemon-juice sky
the curds in the sky tickled rosy-yellow
by the sun
now glisten in an effervescent crease
in my dalgona mug with its frosty flanks
the returning winter in the night clouds,
and the returning jolts of the ambling land
entangle, like the filigree of henna,
a tale of loss, melodic but agitating,
like insomnia - an addictive pleasure
of suffering and restlessness.