Your umbra is enough. I have installed
an imaginary portcullis on the edge
of my heart. I’m not ready for a close
up. I fear blackheads and untrimmed
hair in facial hollows. Authenticity
of this ache is a hierogram not drawn
in a hurry. We lived without a language,
loved without syntax. Our bodies spoke,
most of the time to ourselves or to those
hungers that seemed happy to have us.
Paradox and plurality are a part of our
processes. This unsureness is a blessing,
know-alls are for moral paladins or
the insane. My nights are as silent as
dramaturgy in books one does not
believe in. Insight isn’t an accident.
His poems have found a home in The London Magazine, The Fortnightly Review, Lemon Hound, Poetry Australia, Solstice Literary Magazine, Off the Coast Literary Journal, Synesthesia Literary Journal, Oddball Magazine, Hamilton Stone Review, Indian Literature, Muse India, The Hindu, The Statesman, and elsewhere.
Poems are forthcoming in Allegro Poetry Magazine and Sentinel Literary Quarterly. He lives in Mumbai, India.
–Art by Barbara Florczyk
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