Spring is Lost
Galaxies spin in her eyes
Streetlights dim down
Headlights scream past
I am still watching you
Weave your way past the
Tram tracks, over the potholes
Below the broken branch
A slight flick of the wrist
To catch astray leaves
Failure—A sad smirk
You see me and tell me how you missed the first spring
You slept through the season
My arms feel like weeds
Greedy for your being, your form
Reinventing my spine with your skin
Too close. Formidable.
I haven’t thought this through I realised
I keep missing trying to wake you up for springs
Until you drifted into another wasteland
And you never missed a thing.
Better Brown
“did i tell you
i have brown eyes
to see
the world
…in, as, a
little more
than
black and white…”—A friend
To watch the world revolve in sepia-ed tones
have my own box of remembrance stored on a window sill
like a house plant, capturing things in pots you’re supposed to let grow
i’ll let my eyes move over things,
halting, caressing and closing them
enlarging, narrowing and blinking twice for disbelief,
and sometimes I’ll stare at nothing in particular
but draw from my box and remember
a brown sky
a lengthy sigh
with a winter that got caught in my eyelashes.
Illustration : Suman Mukherjee
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