By Urmi Chakravorty
I watched the pregnant moon melt – a pearly blob in the pulp of my onyx sleeplessness. As I tossed and turned on the bed, She played peek-a-boo through the lush filigree of the wishing tree outside my window, mocking my naivete, scorning at the maelstrom ripping through my jilted heart. I invited her to a late-night cognac. She accepted, scattering her uppity sparkle on the blistered walls and cracked floors of my restless atelier -- with eavesdropping walls and kitschy souvenirs, carrying the dust of sterile memories. We clinked the crystals and raised a toast, I, to my wasted sepia breath and moribund yen, She, to her borrowed sheen and waning arc. The clouds waved and the stars smiled but half. We laid out our picnic basket on the leaden sky -- One, with the whiff of stale desire, and a taste of dementia, A one-pot meal of life’s battle scars Slow cooked on the embers of pain, love and loss. Then the tired moon yawned and tucked herself to sleep As I slid under the duvet of half-crocheted, gossamer dreams, High on life…drunk on hope…a dandelion amidst the rubble of my being.
Urmi Chakravorty is an educator whose articles, stories and poems have found space in The Hindu, The Times of India, multiple social and literary platforms and anthologies.
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