Why do we live in a world,

where people are dying on the daily.

Where hijabs are being yanked off of Muslim women.

Where young muslim girls are being killed 

for believing in a religion,

when the goddamn constitution gives her that right. 

Why do we live in a world with so much hate. 

Where police officers are killing black men,

but not receiving proper repercussions. 

Where “all lives matter”,

but not when it comes to black people.

Where white women are constantly stealing from black women,

but get mad when they are called out.

Why do we live in a world 

where corruption is rampant,

and politicians work for themselves and not others.

Where a man that tells stories of rape

becomes the president. 

And it is dismissed as locker room talk.

Why do we live in a world that inspires hate instead of love?

Why do we live in a world that preaches about liberty and justice,

but doesn’t stand for either of those?

© yuktaparikh 



Darkness had always scared me.

I couldn’t see

what was right in front of me,

but I suppose I don’t need darkness for that. 

© yuktaparikh 

When I Die 

When I die, 

don’t look for me at my grave

because I won’t be there.

That’s the last place I’ll be.

If you want to find me, 

look around you.

I’ll be the earth and

the grass and the sky and the air.

I’ll be the flower 

that’s still blooming in the dead of winter.

I’ll be the first drop of rain after a drought.

I’ll be the rainbow after a hurricane. 

I’ll be the shooting star in the night sky.

I’ll be the full moon on a summer night.

One thing I’ll never be is gone.

© yuktaparikh 


My mother tells me,

“Don’t go out in the sun.”

She is afraid my skin will darken,

but what she doesn’t understand

is that I belong underneath the sun. 

My brown skin favors the light 

and refuses to hide. 

© yuktaparikh 

The Stories I Carry

These scars that I carry,

tell the stories of who I was.

They fill my blank canvass,

and they leave room for stories 

of who I will be. 

These birth marks tell the stories

of the lives before mine.

Of all the people that I once was

and of the people I will be.

These veins show the life that is inside me.

The blood coursing through me.

Blood that can be easily exposed to the world.

My blood tells the stories of the people who gave it to me,

of the genetics that went into creating this body,

of the ancestors that lived years and years before I did.

Although I will never know who they are, 

I carry their stories in me 

and they will stay with me for as long as I live.

© yuktaparikh


When did curiosity

become fear?

When did our wants 

become our needs?

And when,

did our hunger for learning 

become a thirst for power?