by Vinita Agrawal
Unfulfilled promises jangle like an empty syringe of morphine
Sprinkling the pain of blockages further into the soul
The chapel at the turn of the street is cob-webbed with morbid confessions
They tar its facade; reduce it to a box of walls when faith disappears
I cannot pray anymore…I am sunk in the creek in the jungle of letting-go
When rescued, I’ll make triangular boats and float them in my name, like water flags
Seasons will come and go and I will continue to sing the songs you wrote for me
From between the jowls of my December mufflers…
…Will continue to torch the corners that failed to receive light
In the spell binding, fleeting, summer of our love.
Vinita is a Delhi based writer and poet and has been published in international print and online journals.
