by Priyanka Sacheti 

Suddenly

Suddenly grief descends upon you
and you are lost in a different sky,
rendered weightless.

Grief is an invisible silver scar.
It is still there if you can’t see it.
It is still there if you can’t touch it.
It’s always going to be there.

Open an atlas
and you will see rivers
and ghost rivers too,
all those who once flowed
across the earth,
making it theirs.
They may no longer flow
but their songs still endure.

A thorn hurts and stuns,
pierces deep through
all the layers that is skin.
But the tip is soft,
very soft, green too.

Grief is a murmuration,
long stemmed blood red roses,
an empty blue bowl,
an unfinished quilt,
a word abandoned halfway.
Some days, you write
in a sunlit garden.
Other days, you wear a
dress of thorns
and gaze at the fickle stars,
asking again and again,
why me
why me

***

Spring Matin

A clear blue vase sky,
sunlight streaming through,
like a beloved memory.
A yellow fire burns
in a green garden,
a harbinger of hopes,
promises nested within.
Inside my palm,
I rekindle forgotten joy.
A fish swims around in a bowl
which it believes to be the sea;
for you, my love,
it could be a galaxy,
the entire cosmos, even.
This is why spring exists:
a vast continent of possibility.
Awakening the slumbering earth,
I discover a cool tunnel.
Where it goes, I do not know:
but follow it I must.

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