bleeding (a collaboration)

written with the wondrous Nandita (in italics). an incredible pleasure to have her on this. 


there are nights

filled with crescent

moons that cut

at the tips

of stubborn hearts.

with stars

that dim

and veins

that pour

on sheets

of skies.

and angels

that cry.

and goodbyes

that linger.

and on such nights

of heartbeats sullen

from remembering 

waned dreams,

breaths reek

of nostalgia 

piercing through 

pallid veins

to burst open

tears of poetry 

waxes paths 

dimly illuminated 

by fallen stars 

and some 

still silent scars 

© Hudson Biko and Nandita

Summer Months

Growing up, in summer months

We would ride


across barrows

and potholes.


We would fall




the rugged metal

and then

c r a w l

back onto it.


We would run across fields

that took us farther

and farther

from the calls of our fathers

and mothers


c r a w l  i n g

back to them.


Growing up, in summer months

we were nonchalant

about the absence of


because we had our own eccentricity


flowing through veins

of simplicity and




Growing up, in summer months

we would rise,

we would fall – then crawl,

we would run across fields.


We were nonchalant


I was nonchalant.

Because my own eccentricity

flowed t h r o u g h veins

of simplicity




I miss that.


© Hudson Biko

via Daily Prompt: Simple