To the dust dilapidated
under a six inch stiletto
goodbye is giving
a favour for forgiveness
when the neck of the night
wear jasmine as her fragrance.
I count glow worms like stars
trampling to tethers
the arrogant neighbour's cigarette butt
The window pane of the old man's house
broke, strewing silver
on a night bleeding moons.
My hands tremble
to the bruises made by a kitchen knife,
cloaked behind curtains
dancing to the music of a fan
I cling to a door handle not thwarted
by a summer that will strike soon
fighting for my farewell
in tireless thanklessness
when the yellow roses in
a pregnant pot
smile at me in asking
"Who would water us when you go?
Featured in Muse India July August Issue here and in One Title magazine here
under a six inch stiletto
goodbye is giving
a favour for forgiveness
when the neck of the night
wear jasmine as her fragrance.
I count glow worms like stars
trampling to tethers
the arrogant neighbour's cigarette butt
The window pane of the old man's house
broke, strewing silver
on a night bleeding moons.
My hands tremble
to the bruises made by a kitchen knife,
cloaked behind curtains
dancing to the music of a fan
I cling to a door handle not thwarted
by a summer that will strike soon
fighting for my farewell
in tireless thanklessness
when the yellow roses in
a pregnant pot
smile at me in asking
"Who would water us when you go?
Featured in Muse India July August Issue here and in One Title magazine here
1 comment:
Beautiful! Really liked the last few lines with the yellow flowers asking that meaning-laden question.
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