It’s dark

Damp and moist like my mother’s hair

Under humid fur, that smell like jasmines

Coveted in breathless movements, of words that never saw the light

Chantings scrawled on every wall

Glowing under the bright red lily called fire.

I didn't know it existed

Because it wasn’t there on the map my mom stashed next to the soiled wrappers in the car

Neither did she talk about it, but she never does talk

Yet I go there every day

When my mother drinks a ton

When she sits on the couch and starts moaning about love

And till she dozes, surrounded by broken wine bottles

I go back to my dear land 

Where it is dark

Damp and moist, like the last kiss she gave me, eight years ago

Smelling like jasmines, that once grew on creepers near my house

And scrawled on its skies are words, that I read once in a library

That one time I went to school

Unused words, which have never come out of my mouth since

They were scrawled on the walls, morbid forlorn graffiti

And I trek on bricked floors, holding fire in my lamp

Cause it's dark in there.