Portrait Series; DreamGirl

She is every good dream you have
cerulean skies and sunny seaside towns
you both sit at a little outdoor cafe
sparkling iced tea and a bit of gossip
you can see your reflection in
her sunglasses, you look happy
beaming , you might be
even laughing, tummy aching
every good dream, she is.
she walks on cobble-stoned streets
few steps ahead of you, turns around
and takes pictures of you, surprisingly
you are smiling in it.
In the afternoon light, is when you
really stop to look at her, she is
every good dream you have.
and like in every good dream
you cannot touch her, or look
for her, she doesn’t have a shadow
and that is how she wants it
so you play along and pretend
she is just that, a dream
you wake up and do not remember her.
– Portrait Series; DreamGirl by Thamanna Razak

Portrait Series; My Loudest Voice

On the morning of
my funeral, your despair
would be the
loudest, I know that.
Your cries, the most
heart wrenching.
Everyone at the table
would turn and ask who
you are to my
mother, “she’s a friend”
she would answer
but they all will
still wonder
and it will wreck
your heart
to realise the only
person who
could understand your
heavy sobs have
ceased to exist.

– Portrait Series; My Loudest Voice by Thamanna Razak

Portrait Series; Purple Girl

Our sorrow is belly-full
your pain, mouthful for
both of us sometimes.
but most times
you are purple, not even
I rub my palms together
warm my hands for your
change in colour
not that it makes any difference
but it’s the only
warmth I know to give
physical, inevitable heat
from my body to yours
from all the blood that flows
without any reason for it to.
you are for me, a prayer
for more warmth,
to be able to give
you, a body, blood and heat
to turn your purple into skin
into love, a prayer
to turn me into something
more than a palm to
warm your bruises.
– Portrait Series; Purple Girl by Thamanna Razak

Portrait Series; The Overflow

I hand out an empty glass
and she pours all her love
until it’s full
and some more
until it’s brimming
for the road, she says
for the journey, she says
‘because I know you.
you will empty your eyes
dry your body out
and would want to take your
heart, throw it out the
window of a running car
because it hurts, 
because it doesn’t beat
for the right souls, I know
but, I want you to hold on 
to this overflowing love
and warmth. I am
not going to be there
but please remember to
hold out the glass for 
people to give you 
the love you pour out.’ 
-Portrait Series; The Overflow by Thamanna Razak

A Poem of Pain

I take my wound of love
to new place of worship
air thick and laden with
the quiet growing of jasmines
soaking my eyes and heart with
a storm of an indian monsoon
devout, I tie my ghungroos
oh earth, your soaking dirt
your promise to keep my
feet grounded, every step
and every misstep
anklet bells ringing in grief
to another Jagjit Singh’s
love song, his sweet melancholy
weaves itself into the buds
of jasmines, an understanding
oh garden of grief, where do
i find a vine, a branch, a soft
patch of your dirt to lay my pain
oh monsoon sky, please witness
my sobbing heart, dancing to
a melody I can’t hold
oh my wound, have you not
found healing even in this poetry
earth and the sky is offering you
oh heart, is death the only relief?
– A Poem of Pain by Thamanna Razak

Mirror Stories of Every Woman I Know

Leftover lipstick
on your finger
you softly press it
on to the cream
of your brown
In the light of
a humid
the outline of your
body beneath
the sheer of a
white cotton kurta
reminds you of
sand valleys
of Rub- al Khali,
glistening sweat beads
like oil wells of the desert
every country
wants to own.
Soft untidy curls of
your long dark hair,
strands sticking to
the nape of your neck,
sweaty and hot.
In the mirror
you see your mother,
your grandmother,
but never yourself.
Kohled eyes
and warm skin,
you tie your beauty
to your ancestors
every time.
oh how our women
even in the luxury of
their bedrooms
their own mirrors
wears modesty
like a veil
oh how our women
look in the mirror
see a beautiful creature
glowing and celestial
and never want to believe
it’s her own self.
– Mirror Stories of Every Woman by Thamanna Razak

Breaking Moonlight

Oh the coming apart of
lullabies in your heart
ripples of water falling
heavy and hurt
quiet sobbing of
the seashore
its every grain
sodden with suffering
withering in the thought
of your sorrow.
In the moonlight
against the direful black sky
Gods as deponent
silver and violent,
breaking your heart has never
looked so beautiful.
– Breaking Moonlight by Thamanna Razak