a fragile palm cocoons itself,
this gaze, warm as a mellow summer,
slips over the papyrus:
paint me a rain, I murmur to the sky.
The ocean’s feet answer my toes.

With every dawn, my eyes learn
a resilience for forgetfulness.
With every dusk, my eyes forget
a resilience for memory.

I weave this tapestry, sealing the light.
I paint it with colors dry;
I frame it with a glass of unending silence.

But If a mirror possessed by unrequited love breaks,
Why does it sound like a thousand answers?

Shashank Bhardwaj