I had hoped that the bass would be heavy enough to anchor me
And my headphones sturdy enough to cradle my mind
That threatened oozing from my ears.
I wanted crooning violins that sang condolences.
The world paraded past hurriedly,
Barely sparing time to judge me.

I did not mind.

This must be what feeling alive is.
Full and overflowing, I spill terribly into every space
And I am thinly spread, and feeble.
I do not flow with the grace of the songs that set me in motion.

Even whispers of the faintest hymns find me easy to tease,
Titillated to tumult that falls like chains
And surround me like carnage

I do not mind

Silence gathers me up once the serenade ends
And time forgives me
For my half-scream-half-sung songs
So too does it turn a blind eye
To the lashings of my halved soul.

*The title of this poem, “Consōlārī” is a Latin word meaning ‘to console’*

By Rohini D. James
Copyright November 2014
All Rights Reserved


You’re rather grey today
But the craving for color doesn’t wane.
You slip further toward the edge you think trustworthy
And waiting for your crashing is nothing more than pooling rain.

Where the sun rises your realm seeks shade.
Curled away in the sordid mess you’ve made
Of a world that sought to bless you,
But now withholds from you any love at all.

How far will you fall,
Before you let the winged breeze carry you away?

Anoint your dwelling in roses if it’s the birds you miss.
Forgive your failures tonight if you desire the departure of sleep’s sweet death.
The butterflies will find you in slumber, beyond insomnia’s borders
Only when your flowers bloom

By Rohini Dasi James
Copyright October 2014
All Rights Reserved

A Warning

How time has made me bitter
Or am i wrong to blame time for your crimes? Still I am,
A once decadent wine that has turned to a vinegar poison.
I am trying so desperately to heal
And your toxic love is something of a virus.
You snare as you are excised, yet
My recovery, the sweetness of being well
Frees me from the sympathy that once bound me to you.

You refused to share my sorrows.
Why must I undertake your crosses,
Your burdens of madening weight
Adorned prettily in lies and hues of vanity?

All that settles is dust.
Even after I am long gone
I know you will come
Waging some hellspawned war.
I am the holder of your prison’s key
And by the possession of bravery,
Or stubborness or conceit of battles won
I am a cruel and underhanded fighter,
One who has forgotten how to run.

By Rohini D. James
Copyright March 2014
All Rights Reserved


Under the tie dyed skies
I feel the cerulean love.
Left to dry,
Painted pink with pleasure.
If only we could sit still
Long enough to relieve the stinging in our eyes.

I have handfuls of rainbows,
Glittered galaxies in my palm.
The night most boldly shows
The contrasts of these vivid psalms
That leave my hands in clouds
To anoint entire crowds,
Blessing them brilliantly for holy victory.

We embarked on the festival of colors
And even now I still taste the dyes,
When we were bathed in puffs of powder,
Choked by the air but elated to parade through paradise.

In that moment the earth was a family
With common purpose, stained with the same euphoria.
In that lost footnote in time the planet was home
Bound by the hymns of joy we sang.

Moments like those
Kindle in me
A hope.

God forbid it is stripped away
With the washing off of the bright dust.
Our unity again lost with the flowing of rivers of mingled muck.
The next year will bring brighter hues to mark our skin
And hopefully, a peace that is constant and undying.

By Rohini James
Copyright March 2014
All Rights Reserved

Why So Serious?

Why So Serious?

By Rohini James
Copyright December 2013
All Rights Reserved



Take your hand off your mouth.
Let yourself scream.
Take the Band-Aid off.
Let yourself breathe.

By Rohini James
Copyright December 2013
All Rights Reserved


I felt your beams when you waltzed through.
The crowds breathed and lived around you.
You were smiling in the truest sincerity for the first time.
My mouth agape I welcomed it, praying its longevity,
And your hands opened to me,
With palms softened by tearful holding,
That had shunned the light from thy silver eyes,
While crouched in fetal sorrow so stinging and clandestine.

Black rooms are known to swallow our secrets,
As friends tremble together in the heat of night.
To the walls confessed their growing weakness,
Lending to the soul a season of change over night.

You found your healing in no companion.
And I exalt your resilience, to rise unbroken
Amended your fissures be, dearest love, my immortal
With beauty more effervescent, having been polished
by purgatorial flame so unrelentingly true, pure and unendurable.
Immaculate now you are, your parentage of suffering;
It’s redolence is thy virtue

It’s wonderful. You were never too far gone.
Never as damaged as we once feared we would remain forever.
The wounds no more, your blood as golden lacquer
And it’s proximity to thy sienna skin gives luminous glowing
To every truth and torment that pushes through your brokenness.
Does it still bring pain? It lavishes all in light.
And I see you wince in worry, a stranger to euphoric oneness.
It holds true, woman of woe and chaste allure; change is fright.
But all freedom and peace is sweeter when preceded by a fight.

By Rohini James
Copyright November 2013
All Rights Reserved