Snatch our liberty, for generations. Make us believe we love it. Fool us.
For every attack that tortured my soul, I won't say quiet, not anymore.
You may know all this already, but in this moment you are me – a ghost of my past.
Our pens, our truths, our voices are all being stifled under saffron rule.
Dedicated to all the hum-sufferers facing high fuel prices and empty wallets.
We always focus on romantic breakups and how much they hurt, but losing friends to irreconcilable difference is painful too.
A poem about people watching on the New York City subway.