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no oasis for the lovelorn
By Archita Mittra
*Editor's Note: Previously published in Glo Mag.
and then, on one strange melancholy morning
the trembling river you’d sit beside
and soak your love-crushed feet in,
will run dry of longing
and turn into a helpless infant puddle
that even the desperate monsoon rain
howling like a drunken demented mother
can’t kiss back to life.
that morning, where will your heart of rust,
your parched loveless hut, blackened with
years of cow-dung dust, that picture
of an ugly woman, painted by someone
you can barely remember, hanging limp from
the deadened walls and the empty earthenware
pots once filled with blood-thick water, from
the ancient river, that is no more
hide and weep behind?
and on that naked night, shall you not prostrate yourself
before the ogling moon and pray for your silver
hair to grow long again, turn into liquid desire
and drown you in the waters you were exiled from?
or shall the strands remain the vicious snakes they always are,
strangling your barren and withered heart
(that they say in stories older than myth,
was once a river, overflowing even in the summer)
strangling you, until the day the depraved sky becomes a
brazen mirror, and cracks apart at your despair?
#Unreal #Poem #Dark #LiquidDesire #LoveLost #NakedNight #Despair
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