Lord, give me a white man!

Ta’afuli Andrew Fiu

“Lord, give me a white man!”
Her voice is searching, screaming for providence.
I thought of leaving her before.
“Jesus Christ!...
I’m tired of coconut men fucking my life up!”
down the hallway I hear.
The words

A Mystery

Wished there was a way
to convey to you
my journey at this stage ...
When reasons fail me,
and lack of understanding
        seems blinded by darkness
I can’t get out of!
Feels like
         a stumbling block
A mystery to myself
as I thought I’ve out grown
this type of

It pleased me heaps seeing them run away all together, as if they had planned it before being separated by the clouds that spat them out like an angry mother wanting its solitude, and then joining in unison again like they always had a little clever plan. Clever raindrops, you

Namita Devidayal (born 1968) is a consultant with the Times of India, Mumbai, and writes on subjects as varied as music, money and motherhood. She graduated with a degree in Politics from Princeton University, and has worked, during the last decade, with The Times of India group as

Fragile?

Fragile States
sitting on a bespeckled ocean.
Like humpty dumpty they desperately
try to put you back together (again)

When will they realize that you
were never the golden egg that all
the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Lusted after. Rather, your beauty