i have lived
i have won at this game called life
- funeral
it was when i stopped searching for home within others
and lifted the foundations of home within myself
i found there were no roots more intimate
than those between a mind and body
that have decided to be whole
what good am i
if i do not fill the plates
of the ones who fed me
but fill the plates of strangers
- family
even if they’ve been separated
they’ll end up together
you can’t keep lovers apart
no matter how much
i pluck and pull them
my eyebrows always
find their way
back to each other
- unibrow
a child and an elder sat across from each other at a table
a cup of milk and tea before them
the elder asked the child
if she was enjoying her life
the child answered yes
life was good but
she couldn’t wait to grow up
and do grown-up things
then the child asked the elder the same question
he too said life was good
but he’d give anything to go back to an age
where moving and dreaming were still possibilities
they both took a sip from their cups
but the child’s milk had curdled
the elder’s tea had grown bitter
there were tears running from their eyes
the day you have everything
i hope you remember
when you had nothing
she is not a porn category
or the type you look for
on a friday night
she is not needy or easy or weak
- daddy issues is not a punch line
i long to be a lily pad
i made change after change
on the road to perfection
but when i finally felt beautiful enough
their definition of beauty
suddenly changed
what if there is no finish line
and in an attempt to keep up
i lose the gifts i was born with
for a beauty so insecure
it can’t commit to itself
- the lies they sell
you want to keep
the blood and the milk hidden
as if the womb and breast
never fed you
if we believed we were beautiful enough already
their concept of beauty
is manufactured
i am not
- human
how do i shake this envy
when i see you doing well
sister how do i love myself enough to know
your accomplishments are not my failures
- we are not each other’s competition
it is a blessing
to be the color of earth
do you know how often
flowers confuse me for home
we need more love
not from men
but from ourselves
and each other
- medicine
you are a mirror
if you continue to starve yourself of love
you’ll only meet people who’ll starve you too
if you soak yourself in love
the universe will hand you those
who’ll love you too
- a simple math
how much
or how little
clothing she has on
has nothing to do with how free she is
- covered | uncovered
there are mountains growing
beneath our feet
that cannot be contained
all we’ve endured
has prepared us for this
bring your hammers and fists
we have a glass ceiling to shatter
- let’s leave this place roofless
it isn’t blood that makes you my sister
it’s how you understand my heart
as though you carry it
in your body
what is the greatest lesson a woman should learn
that since day one
she’s already had everything she needs within herself
it’s the world that convinced her she did not
they convinced me
i only had a few good years left
before i was replaced by a girl younger than me
as though men yield power with age
but women grow into irrelevance
they can keep their lies
for i have just gotten started
i feel as though i just left the womb
my twenties are the warm-up
for what i’m really about to do
wait till you see me in my thirties
now that will be a proper introduction
to the nasty. wild. woman in me.
how can i leave before the party’s started
i ripen with age
i do not come with an expiration date
and now
for the main event
curtains up at fifty
let’s begin the show
- timeless
to heal
you have to
get to the root
of the wound
and kiss it all the way up
they threw us in a pit to end each other
so they wouldn’t have to
starved us of space so long
we had to eat each other up to stay alive
look up look up look up
to catch them looking down at us
how can we compete with each other
when the real monster is too big
to take down alone
when my daughter is living in my belly
i will speak to her like
she’s already changed the world
she will walk out of me on a red carpet
fully equipped with the knowledge
that she’s capable of
anything she sets her mind to
(ode to raymond douillet’s a short tour and farewell)
now
is not the time
to be quiet
or make room for you
when we have had no room at all
now
is our time
to be mouthy
get as loud as we need
to be heard
representation
is vital
otherwise the butterfly
surrounded by a group of moths
unable to see itself
will keep trying to become the moth
- representation
take the compliment
do not shy away from
another thing that belongs to you
our work should equip
the next generation of women
to outdo us in every field
this is the legacy we’ll leave behind
- progress
the road to changing the world
is never-ending
- pace yourself
the neces
sity to protect you overcame me
i love you too much
to remain quiet as you weep
watch me rise to kiss the poison out of you
i will resist the temptation
of my tired feet
and keep marching
with tomorrow in one hand
and a fist in the other
i will carry you to freedom
- love letter to the world
have your eyes ever fallen upon a beast like me
i have the spine of a mulberry tree
the neck of a sunflower
sometimes i am the desert
at times the rain forest
but always the wild
my belly brims over the waistband of my pants
each strand of hair frizzing out like a lifeline
it took a long time to become
such a sweet rebellion
back then i refused to water my roots
till i realized
if i am the only one
who can be the wilderness
then let me be the wilderness
the tree trunk cannot become the branch
the jungle cannot become the garden
so why should i
- it is so full here in myself
many try
but cannot tell the difference
between a marigold and my skin
both of them are an orange sun
blinding the ones who have not learned to love the light
if you have never
stood with the oppressed
there is still time
- lift them
the year is done. i spread the past three hundred
sixty-five days before me on the living room carpet.
here is the month i decided to shed everything not deeply committed to my dreams. the day i refused to be a victim to the self-pity. here is the week i slept in the garden. the spring i wrung the self-doubt by its neck. hung your kindness up. took down the calendar. the week i danced so hard my heart learned to float above water again. the summer i unscrewed all the mirrors from their walls. no longer needed to see myself to feel seen. combed the weight out of my hair.
i fold the good days up and place them in my back pocket for safekeeping. draw the match. cremate the unnecessary. the light of the fire warms my toes. i pour myself a glass of warm water to cleanse myself for january. here i go. stronger and wiser into the new.
there is
nothing left
to worry about
the sun and her flowers are here.
and then there are days when the simple act of breathing leaves you exhausted. it seems easier to give up on this life. the thought of disappearing brings you peace. for so long i was lost in a place where there was no sun. where there grew no flowers. but every once in a while out of the darkness something i loved would emerge and bring me to life again. witnessing a starry sky. the lightness of laughing with old friends. a reader who told me the poems had saved their life. yet there i was struggling to save my own. my darlings. living is difficult. it is difficult for everybody. and it is at that moment when living feels like crawling through a pin-sized hole. that we must resist the urge of succumbing to bad memories. refuse to bow before bad months or bad years. cause our eyes are starving to feast on this world. there are so many turquoise bodies of water left for us to dive in. there is family. blood or chosen. the possibility of falling in love. with people and places. hills high as the moon. valleys that roll into new worlds. and road trips. i find it deeply important to accept that we are not the masters of this place. we are her visitors. and like guests let’s enjoy this place like a garden. let us treat it with a gentle hand. so the ones after us can experience it too. let’s find our own sun. grow our own flowers. the universe delivered us with the light and the seeds. we might not hear it at times but the music is always on. it just needs to be turned louder. for as long as there is breath in our lungs—we must keep dancing.
rupi kaur is a #1 new york times bestselling author and illustrator of two collections of poetry. she started drawing at the age of five when her mother handed her a paintbrush and said—draw your heart out. rupi views her life as an exploration of that artistic journey. after completing her degree in rhetoric studies she published her first collection of poems milk and honey in 2014. the internationally acclaimed collection sold well over a million copies gracing the new york times bestseller list every week for over a year. it has since been translated into over thirty languages. her long-awaited second collection the sun and her flowers was published in 2017. through this collection she continues to explore a variety of themes ranging from love. loss. trauma. healing. femininity. migration. revolution. rupi has performed her poetry across the world. her photography and art direction are warmly embraced and she hopes to continue this expression for years to come.
- about the author
the sun and her flowers is a
collection of poetry about
grief
self-abandonment
honoring one’s roots
love
and empowering oneself
it is split into five chapters
wilting. falling. rooting. rising. and blooming.
- about the book