• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 08

When Calling Your Name is Like a Sin

With darkness pooled in the folds of our pliant skin
you can measure the tenacity of my words
in the degree of the melanin, my skin holds

Here in this world, at this moment, in this day
where the veracity of wounds can only be measured
by the color of our skin--
where the degree of the accuracy in cries and wails
are measured by the fairness of your skin

Here in this moment--
I open my arms to hold you close
closer than darkness deep-seated in the pores of my being
Between the undulating proximity and the prosody of pain
syncopating with the warmth of your heaving bosom

As I pull you close
my mirror image, my doppelganger
the reflection of my thoughts:
that bears the color as thick as the wound in my heart
when calling your name
sits like a welt on the tip of my tongue

When calling your name aloud
in the middle of the ashen nights
curls like a sin inside my mouth
as I hold you precious like a sacred hymn
like a muezzin call to prayer in the middle of the noon


When Calling Your Name is Like a Sin

I want to breathe deeply
breathe you in,
exhale the hurt that taints my skin
I want to hear your name ringing
like a mellifluous lullaby in my ears
till eternity;
till the end of days

When our love turns into fables
passed on from one parched heart to another
Stored deftly in the yellow-tinged paper
by the turmeric laced fingers
jumping hoops from generation to generation

Where our names are etched in the rounded stone wounds of the river
leaving a trail for the bleeding hearts to follow
As they put aside their pain and lay down
soaking their marred souls down for the warmth
with the apricity of the summer sun
and sings the songs of our glory

Till then my love, our names will be called by those
who carry scriptures in their arms
with a forked tongue and a vile heart
holds the leash to our lives
and carry the lien to our souls.