WRITTEN WORK
Slumber
It's foggy out tonight.
Or maybe it's morning.
I can't quite tell anymore.
I'm wandering, a ghostly apparition floating
from headstone to headstone,
Not quite sure where I came from,
Or where I'm going.
I'm not truly paying attention to my surroundings,
The fog in my mind mixes with the fog before sunrise,
too thick to see past.
The sun begins to rise, and with it, some fog.
I slow to a stop and blink, looking around for a moment.
I don't know whose headstone I'm standing next to,
but it seems familiar.
I continue my aimless trek through the graveyard,
Until something stops me abruptly.
I look down,
And through the fog, I see another headstone.
It's far older than the rest around me,
The name has faded off the chipped granite.
Light begins to filter through the leaves of the young
oak above me,
And for a moment, all my fog clears.
There's a little fox sleeping on my grave.
It breathes deeply and its tiny chest expands with
warmth.
I move closer, floating silently till I can crouch down
to touch it.
My translucent fingers brush lightly against the fiery
fur behind its ears,
And to my surprise, the little creature awakens,
Ears gently twitching as it slowly surfaces to
consciousness.
It yawns and stretches as I watch on quietly.
Eventually, it looks up and meets my glass eyes.
It stands slowly, brushes its tail against my arm
lightly,
And casts me a look of recognition over its shoulder
as it trots away.
I sink down to the dirt the little animal was sleeping
on,
Slowly sinking further into the ground,
Eyes saying goodbye to the horizon as I settle,
Bones meeting spirit as I drift to sleep.
Orange
Orange.
Warm, sweet, comforting.
Tender arms and soft embraces.
A kiss on the forehead,
A palm against mine.
Orange envelops me in its kind light,
‘Til I’m coated in it;
Orange bathing every inch of my skin,
Love deep in my soul.
It’s been there since I first felt my mother’s
embrace,
Years’ worth of summers spent with my cousins
are coated in the shade.
Memories from a time of innocence and laughter
All faded and tinted orange with time.
There were years between then and now that felt
grey,
Cold frost creeping into the corners of a polaroid,
Tinting the whole image blue and grey.
I’ve started to feel warm orange light once again;
Arms enveloping me in my sleep,
The light of a sunrise cast over a familiar sleeping
figure,
Warmth from my baby sister’s smile,
A reflection of a face that feels more like mine.
Sunset shades coat the time I spend with the
people I love,
And I hope to spend the rest of years basking in
the sun.
Home
I was put on this Earth to speak.
Placed here amongst towering coconut palms
and crashing waves
To breathe words into the air,
To watch those long fronds inhale my words andexhale their own.
They speak a language my vessel does not yet
understand.
My soul understands.
It sees a past and a future,
Of dirt and darkness and beautiful rot,
Of another vessel melted into soil,
Breathing sea-scented thoughts.But for now,
My body will speak words that my soul pushes forth,
In tongues my kind will understand,
With warm cheeks and a heart beating loud,
‘Til I melt into the soil once again.Sanctuary
I lie here,
Stones digging into my back,
The smell of grass and fresh dirt
Overpowering anything else in the vicinity.
The sky is a violet haze,
Dawn approaching at its groggy pace.
I've been here all night,
And I'm tempted to lay her 'til an elusive tomorrow
finally arrives.
As I close my eyes,
The grass around this patch of turned-over dirt
creeps over my arms,
Planting itself deep beneath my skin,
And into the centre of my soul.
Wildflowers and dandelions curl in my hair,
Weeds take up the space in my skull,
A butterfly sits in the gaps between my ribs.
It moves its wings,
And my lungs fill with air once again.
I blink the petals from my eyes and sigh.
I lie here,
Stones digging into my back,
And the sun kissing my feet,
Wrapped in earth and greenery.
I slowly stand and look at where I just lay.
I will return to my home soon enough
But tomorrow has arrived,
And I must move on.
Breakfast with Umma
The fan above me whines,
Struggling to provide respite from the late morning
heat
Yet my forehead glistens with sweat
As I sit at the dining table with my grandmother.
We’re cleaning pepper berries from her tree outside.
She complains of achy joints
Yet refuses to stop peeling the half-dried berries off
their vines
When I tell her I can take over for her.
We sit in silence,
The only sounds to be heard are the crows a
nd cats outside.
My grandmother complains of the cats walking into
the house and laying by her feet,
Though she makes sure to feed them thrice a day,
every day.
She scolds me for letting my chai go cold
Though she has yet to eat breakfast
And it’s already 10 past 11 in the morning.
We finally finish our chore together
And she urges me to reheat my chai.
I urge her to sit down while I make a plate
And she finally relents, sitting down with an annoyed
sigh.
I serve her the breakfast she prepared before I’d
awoken;
Puttu with payar, a hot mug of chai on the side.
She finally eats,
As I sift through the deep red and brown pepper
berries.
I bring a handful to my nose and inhale,
Allowing the scent to tickle my nostrils.
And smile as she begins to scold me for making
myself sneeze.
Growing Pains
The past few weeks have been strange.
I’m at a stage of shed.
Old skin falls away to make way for the new
As I grow too large for who I used to be.
I keep having to remind myself
Though this skin is unfamiliar for now,
It is mine.
If I don’t recognise my reflection,
It’s alright.
Old skin falls away for the new,
Patterns etched over the shadows of faded scars,
Yet still, I have miles of blank canvas to fill
With art,
With mistakes,
With love.
I change as the seasons do,
I move with the tide,
I wax and wane with the moon,
What could be more natural?
Slumber
It's foggy out tonight.
Or maybe it's morning.
I can't quite tell anymore.
I'm wandering, a ghostly apparition floating
from headstone to headstone,
Not quite sure where I came from,
Or where I'm going.
I'm not truly paying attention to my surroundings,
The fog in my mind mixes with the fog before sunrise,
too thick to see past.
The sun begins to rise, and with it, some fog.
I slow to a stop and blink, looking around for a moment.
I don't know whose headstone I'm standing next to,
but it seems familiar.
I continue my aimless trek through the graveyard,
Until something stops me abruptly.
I look down,
And through the fog, I see another headstone.
It's far older than the rest around me,
The name has faded off the chipped granite.
Light begins to filter through the leaves of the young
oak above me,
And for a moment, all my fog clears.
There's a little fox sleeping on my grave.
It breathes deeply and its tiny chest expands with
warmth.
I move closer, floating silently till I can crouch down
to touch it.
My translucent fingers brush lightly against the fiery
fur behind its ears,
And to my surprise, the little creature awakens,
Ears gently twitching as it slowly surfaces to
consciousness.
It yawns and stretches as I watch on quietly.
Eventually, it looks up and meets my glass eyes.
It stands slowly, brushes its tail against my arm
lightly,
And casts me a look of recognition over its shoulder
as it trots away.
I sink down to the dirt the little animal was sleeping
on,
Slowly sinking further into the ground,
Eyes saying goodbye to the horizon as I settle,
Bones meeting spirit as I drift to sleep.
Orange
Orange.
Warm, sweet, comforting.
Tender arms and soft embraces.
A kiss on the forehead,
A palm against mine.
Orange envelops me in its kind light,
‘Til I’m coated in it;
Orange bathing every inch of my skin,
Love deep in my soul.
It’s been there since I first felt my mother’s
embrace,
Years’ worth of summers spent with my cousins
are coated in the shade.
Memories from a time of innocence and laughter
All faded and tinted orange with time.
There were years between then and now that felt
grey,
Cold frost creeping into the corners of a polaroid,
Tinting the whole image blue and grey.
I’ve started to feel warm orange light once again;
Arms enveloping me in my sleep,
The light of a sunrise cast over a familiar sleeping
figure,
Warmth from my baby sister’s smile,
A reflection of a face that feels more like mine.
Sunset shades coat the time I spend with the
people I love,
And I hope to spend the rest of years basking in
the sun.
Home
I was put on this Earth to speak.
Placed here amongst towering coconut palms
and crashing waves
To breathe words into the air,
To watch those long fronds inhale my words andexhale their own.
They speak a language my vessel does not yet
understand.
My soul understands.
It sees a past and a future,
Of dirt and darkness and beautiful rot,
Of another vessel melted into soil,
Breathing sea-scented thoughts.But for now,
My body will speak words that my soul pushes forth,
In tongues my kind will understand,
With warm cheeks and a heart beating loud,
‘Til I melt into the soil once again.Sanctuary
I lie here,
Stones digging into my back,
The smell of grass and fresh dirt
Overpowering anything else in the vicinity.
The sky is a violet haze,
Dawn approaching at its groggy pace.
I've been here all night,
And I'm tempted to lay her 'til an elusive tomorrow
finally arrives.
As I close my eyes,
The grass around this patch of turned-over dirt
creeps over my arms,
Planting itself deep beneath my skin,
And into the centre of my soul.
Wildflowers and dandelions curl in my hair,
Weeds take up the space in my skull,
A butterfly sits in the gaps between my ribs.
It moves its wings,
And my lungs fill with air once again.
I blink the petals from my eyes and sigh.
I lie here,
Stones digging into my back,
And the sun kissing my feet,
Wrapped in earth and greenery.
I slowly stand and look at where I just lay.
I will return to my home soon enough
But tomorrow has arrived,
And I must move on.
Breakfast with Umma
The fan above me whines,
Struggling to provide respite from the late morning
heat
Yet my forehead glistens with sweat
As I sit at the dining table with my grandmother.
We’re cleaning pepper berries from her tree outside.
She complains of achy joints
Yet refuses to stop peeling the half-dried berries off
their vines
When I tell her I can take over for her.
We sit in silence,
The only sounds to be heard are the crows a
nd cats outside.
My grandmother complains of the cats walking into
the house and laying by her feet,
Though she makes sure to feed them thrice a day,
every day.
She scolds me for letting my chai go cold
Though she has yet to eat breakfast
And it’s already 10 past 11 in the morning.
We finally finish our chore together
And she urges me to reheat my chai.
I urge her to sit down while I make a plate
And she finally relents, sitting down with an annoyed
sigh.
I serve her the breakfast she prepared before I’d
awoken;
Puttu with payar, a hot mug of chai on the side.
She finally eats,
As I sift through the deep red and brown pepper
berries.
I bring a handful to my nose and inhale,
Allowing the scent to tickle my nostrils.
And smile as she begins to scold me for making
myself sneeze.
Growing Pains
The past few weeks have been strange.
I’m at a stage of shed.
Old skin falls away to make way for the new
As I grow too large for who I used to be.
I keep having to remind myself
Though this skin is unfamiliar for now,
It is mine.
If I don’t recognise my reflection,
It’s alright.
Old skin falls away for the new,
Patterns etched over the shadows of faded scars,
Yet still, I have miles of blank canvas to fill
With art,
With mistakes,
With love.
I change as the seasons do,
I move with the tide,
I wax and wane with the moon,
What could be more natural?
Slumber
It's foggy out tonight.
Or maybe it's morning.
I can't quite tell anymore.
I'm wandering, a ghostly apparition floating
from headstone to headstone,
Not quite sure where I came from,
Or where I'm going.
I'm not truly paying attention to my surroundings,
The fog in my mind mixes with the fog before sunrise,
too thick to see past.
The sun begins to rise, and with it, some fog.
I slow to a stop and blink, looking around for a moment.
I don't know whose headstone I'm standing next to,
but it seems familiar.
I continue my aimless trek through the graveyard,
Until something stops me abruptly.
I look down,
And through the fog, I see another headstone.
It's far older than the rest around me,
The name has faded off the chipped granite.
Light begins to filter through the leaves of the young
oak above me,
And for a moment, all my fog clears.
There's a little fox sleeping on my grave.
It breathes deeply and its tiny chest expands with
warmth.
I move closer, floating silently till I can crouch down
to touch it.
My translucent fingers brush lightly against the fiery
fur behind its ears,
And to my surprise, the little creature awakens,
Ears gently twitching as it slowly surfaces to
consciousness.
It yawns and stretches as I watch on quietly.
Eventually, it looks up and meets my glass eyes.
It stands slowly, brushes its tail against my arm
lightly,
And casts me a look of recognition over its shoulder
as it trots away.
I sink down to the dirt the little animal was sleeping
on,
Slowly sinking further into the ground,
Eyes saying goodbye to the horizon as I settle,
Bones meeting spirit as I drift to sleep.
Orange
Orange.
Warm, sweet, comforting.
Tender arms and soft embraces.
A kiss on the forehead,
A palm against mine.
Orange envelops me in its kind light,
‘Til I’m coated in it;
Orange bathing every inch of my skin,
Love deep in my soul.
It’s been there since I first felt my mother’s
embrace,
Years’ worth of summers spent with my cousins
are coated in the shade.
Memories from a time of innocence and laughter
All faded and tinted orange with time.
There were years between then and now that felt
grey,
Cold frost creeping into the corners of a polaroid,
Tinting the whole image blue and grey.
I’ve started to feel warm orange light once again;
Arms enveloping me in my sleep,
The light of a sunrise cast over a familiar sleeping
figure,
Warmth from my baby sister’s smile,
A reflection of a face that feels more like mine.
Sunset shades coat the time I spend with the
people I love,
And I hope to spend the rest of years basking in
the sun.
Home
I was put on this Earth to speak.
Placed here amongst towering coconut palms
and crashing waves
To breathe words into the air,
To watch those long fronds inhale my words andexhale their own.
They speak a language my vessel does not yet
understand.
My soul understands.
It sees a past and a future,
Of dirt and darkness and beautiful rot,
Of another vessel melted into soil,
Breathing sea-scented thoughts.But for now,
My body will speak words that my soul pushes forth,
In tongues my kind will understand,
With warm cheeks and a heart beating loud,
‘Til I melt into the soil once again.Sanctuary
I lie here,
Stones digging into my back,
The smell of grass and fresh dirt
Overpowering anything else in the vicinity.
The sky is a violet haze,
Dawn approaching at its groggy pace.
I've been here all night,
And I'm tempted to lay her 'til an elusive tomorrow
finally arrives.
As I close my eyes,
The grass around this patch of turned-over dirt
creeps over my arms,
Planting itself deep beneath my skin,
And into the centre of my soul.
Wildflowers and dandelions curl in my hair,
Weeds take up the space in my skull,
A butterfly sits in the gaps between my ribs.
It moves its wings,
And my lungs fill with air once again.
I blink the petals from my eyes and sigh.
I lie here,
Stones digging into my back,
And the sun kissing my feet,
Wrapped in earth and greenery.
I slowly stand and look at where I just lay.
I will return to my home soon enough
But tomorrow has arrived,
And I must move on.
Breakfast with Umma
The fan above me whines,
Struggling to provide respite from the late morning
heat
Yet my forehead glistens with sweat
As I sit at the dining table with my grandmother.
We’re cleaning pepper berries from her tree outside.
She complains of achy joints
Yet refuses to stop peeling the half-dried berries off
their vines
When I tell her I can take over for her.
We sit in silence,
The only sounds to be heard are the crows a
nd cats outside.
My grandmother complains of the cats walking into
the house and laying by her feet,
Though she makes sure to feed them thrice a day,
every day.
She scolds me for letting my chai go cold
Though she has yet to eat breakfast
And it’s already 10 past 11 in the morning.
We finally finish our chore together
And she urges me to reheat my chai.
I urge her to sit down while I make a plate
And she finally relents, sitting down with an annoyed
sigh.
I serve her the breakfast she prepared before I’d
awoken;
Puttu with payar, a hot mug of chai on the side.
She finally eats,
As I sift through the deep red and brown pepper
berries.
I bring a handful to my nose and inhale,
Allowing the scent to tickle my nostrils.
And smile as she begins to scold me for making
myself sneeze.
Growing Pains
The past few weeks have been strange.
I’m at a stage of shed.
Old skin falls away to make way for the new
As I grow too large for who I used to be.
I keep having to remind myself
Though this skin is unfamiliar for now,
It is mine.
If I don’t recognise my reflection,
It’s alright.
Old skin falls away for the new,
Patterns etched over the shadows of faded scars,
Yet still, I have miles of blank canvas to fill
With art,
With mistakes,
With love.
I change as the seasons do,
I move with the tide,
I wax and wane with the moon,
What could be more natural?
Slumber
It's foggy out tonight.
Or maybe it's morning.
I can't quite tell anymore.
I'm wandering, a ghostly apparition floating
from headstone to headstone,
Not quite sure where I came from,
Or where I'm going.
I'm not truly paying attention to my surroundings,
The fog in my mind mixes with the fog before sunrise,
too thick to see past.
The sun begins to rise, and with it, some fog.
I slow to a stop and blink, looking around for a moment.
I don't know whose headstone I'm standing next to,
but it seems familiar.
I continue my aimless trek through the graveyard,
Until something stops me abruptly.
I look down,
And through the fog, I see another headstone.
It's far older than the rest around me,
The name has faded off the chipped granite.
Light begins to filter through the leaves of the young
oak above me,
And for a moment, all my fog clears.
There's a little fox sleeping on my grave.
It breathes deeply and its tiny chest expands with
warmth.
I move closer, floating silently till I can crouch down
to touch it.
My translucent fingers brush lightly against the fiery
fur behind its ears,
And to my surprise, the little creature awakens,
Ears gently twitching as it slowly surfaces to
consciousness.
It yawns and stretches as I watch on quietly.
Eventually, it looks up and meets my glass eyes.
It stands slowly, brushes its tail against my arm
lightly,
And casts me a look of recognition over its shoulder
as it trots away.
I sink down to the dirt the little animal was sleeping
on,
Slowly sinking further into the ground,
Eyes saying goodbye to the horizon as I settle,
Bones meeting spirit as I drift to sleep.
Orange
Orange.
Warm, sweet, comforting.
Tender arms and soft embraces.
A kiss on the forehead,
A palm against mine.
Orange envelops me in its kind light,
‘Til I’m coated in it;
Orange bathing every inch of my skin,
Love deep in my soul.
It’s been there since I first felt my mother’s
embrace,
Years’ worth of summers spent with my cousins
are coated in the shade.
Memories from a time of innocence and laughter
All faded and tinted orange with time.
There were years between then and now that felt
grey,
Cold frost creeping into the corners of a polaroid,
Tinting the whole image blue and grey.
I’ve started to feel warm orange light once again;
Arms enveloping me in my sleep,
The light of a sunrise cast over a familiar sleeping
figure,
Warmth from my baby sister’s smile,
A reflection of a face that feels more like mine.
Sunset shades coat the time I spend with the
people I love,
And I hope to spend the rest of years basking in
the sun.
Home
I was put on this Earth to speak.
Placed here amongst towering coconut palms
and crashing waves
To breathe words into the air,
To watch those long fronds inhale my words andexhale their own.
They speak a language my vessel does not yet
understand.
My soul understands.
It sees a past and a future,
Of dirt and darkness and beautiful rot,
Of another vessel melted into soil,
Breathing sea-scented thoughts.But for now,
My body will speak words that my soul pushes forth,
In tongues my kind will understand,
With warm cheeks and a heart beating loud,
‘Til I melt into the soil once again.Sanctuary
I lie here,
Stones digging into my back,
The smell of grass and fresh dirt
Overpowering anything else in the vicinity.
The sky is a violet haze,
Dawn approaching at its groggy pace.
I've been here all night,
And I'm tempted to lay her 'til an elusive tomorrow
finally arrives.
As I close my eyes,
The grass around this patch of turned-over dirt
creeps over my arms,
Planting itself deep beneath my skin,
And into the centre of my soul.
Wildflowers and dandelions curl in my hair,
Weeds take up the space in my skull,
A butterfly sits in the gaps between my ribs.
It moves its wings,
And my lungs fill with air once again.
I blink the petals from my eyes and sigh.
I lie here,
Stones digging into my back,
And the sun kissing my feet,
Wrapped in earth and greenery.
I slowly stand and look at where I just lay.
I will return to my home soon enough
But tomorrow has arrived,
And I must move on.
Breakfast with Umma
The fan above me whines,
Struggling to provide respite from the late morning
heat
Yet my forehead glistens with sweat
As I sit at the dining table with my grandmother.
We’re cleaning pepper berries from her tree outside.
She complains of achy joints
Yet refuses to stop peeling the half-dried berries off
their vines
When I tell her I can take over for her.
We sit in silence,
The only sounds to be heard are the crows a
nd cats outside.
My grandmother complains of the cats walking into
the house and laying by her feet,
Though she makes sure to feed them thrice a day,
every day.
She scolds me for letting my chai go cold
Though she has yet to eat breakfast
And it’s already 10 past 11 in the morning.
We finally finish our chore together
And she urges me to reheat my chai.
I urge her to sit down while I make a plate
And she finally relents, sitting down with an annoyed
sigh.
I serve her the breakfast she prepared before I’d
awoken;
Puttu with payar, a hot mug of chai on the side.
She finally eats,
As I sift through the deep red and brown pepper
berries.
I bring a handful to my nose and inhale,
Allowing the scent to tickle my nostrils.
And smile as she begins to scold me for making
myself sneeze.
Growing Pains
The past few weeks have been strange.
I’m at a stage of shed.
Old skin falls away to make way for the new
As I grow too large for who I used to be.
I keep having to remind myself
Though this skin is unfamiliar for now,
It is mine.
If I don’t recognise my reflection,
It’s alright.
Old skin falls away for the new,
Patterns etched over the shadows of faded scars,
Yet still, I have miles of blank canvas to fill
With art,
With mistakes,
With love.
I change as the seasons do,
I move with the tide,
I wax and wane with the moon,
What could be more natural?
This is a collection of poetry I've written. To read scripted work, you can find a PDF of an excerpt from a short film I wrote here,
and you can reach out through the contact form below for more script samples.
