I feel small, sprawled
On the floor
Eyes low and unfixed:
Eyes watering, vision
like a mixing jar for paints;
Like a desert waiting for the rain,
A hundred years may have passed
Like this.
Everything I see twinkles
Because I rub my tired eyes
Because of the brashness of
Because beauty
Is grainy to the touch:
My head is spinning in a waltz
And I
Can smell the colours
On my brush as it once touched your face
On a canvas
Embroidered with your name;
I wish I could see it
Trace the letters with a glance
Or two
(Three syllables)
They had me undone
(I want to unlearn)
The feeling of them
rolling off my tongue:
Can I?
Should I?
Will you
Lift me off the floor
Paint tears on my neck
Of cobalt blue
Before you
Pour thick wine over me
And press a painting knife to my back?
I know you
draw me with my
Cheek against the hardwood
As I listen
To the sound of your feet
To the sounds of the world beneath –
I hear you breathe
And smell your colours again
(Blood, salt and ecstacy):
Does my image plead
And cry –
Are your eyes
as unfocused
as I?
Do you listen
As the desert wasteland speaks:
Don’t throw me down
To the floor again
It’s all that I
Can see.
– Vartika Rastogi
( punkrockandreticence )
Photograph by Abhinavanand Singh.PhotoGrid_1493143160045.jpg

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