ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴏɴ ᴍyꜱᴇʟꜰ
If there was a way to fix the things whose mother is brokenness,
Then I would have cache the
subfusc stretch marks of the
evening when grandma whispered
her last story to the vermillion
cries of clouds, clouds that rains
only on me.
I would have steal the courage of
some revolutionary figures from
modern history and weaved them
on the border of maa's banarasi
saree, so that she could fight back
with the society who wrapped her
14th spring in some injudicious
morals and sullen myths.
I would have rescheduled those
unwanted panic attacks which
i feel more often now, because
I want to bleed some more sceneries
of the moments I spent with numb
nights and humid afternoons and
without myself too.
~I am a poet wondering, if hope hopes for something too?~