"a poem is not enough to touch
the theatre of your fantasy."
-Jaspreet Mann, American Heart
Read the complete poem here: thoughtcatalog.com/jaspreet-mann/2018/11/american-heart/
Freida lives inside her shell, in the heartache of emptiness. No matter where she goes or what she does, karma follows her. But, it is just a matter of t i m e.
Freida can wear pearls. Freida can weave stories about the calligraphy of her mind. But, the world is not b l i n d.
Freida can talk in whispers. Freida can pretend she is n a i v e. Freida can switch off all the lights. But, the darkness shows mirrors of a different k i n d.
Freida can dedicate her life to J e s u s and her C a t h o l i c C h u r c h. Freida can baptise herself in ice. But, she is not worth a d i m e.
Freida's lies are s m o k e and s m o g. Freida's voice is a b l u r. But, Freida wants a street in N e w Y o r k to be named after h e r.
-Jaspreet Mann, Who is Freida ?
The wonder of illusion and the depth of pain as the delicate sparrow crashes unwittingly into a glass pane. The world around her moves on as she wonders what hit her more- the pain or the storm? But love is bigger than this world and its vastness can be overwhelming, the sparrow knows as she seeks the other side, her wings fluttering, desperately with longing. But she never gives up loving. She never gives up flying. Most importantly, she knows that love loves through her, through the beauty of her soul, nothing less, nothing more.
There are countries inside of you
dismembered towns, civil wars
blood soaked highways under stars
pieces of stale memories rotting in jars
slices of scars from a wedding
that never took place at all
one long heat wave of summer
one June, one September
one August, one November
one never ending bitterness of fall.
© Jaspreet Mann
The leaves of an American elm
inside the inventors' gate at 72nd street
told me, I should never beat a hasty retreat
even though winter was not far behind
and spring was serenading at my feet.
- Jaspreet Mann