Rupam Dutta
She said it was color - more than light
The way we see ourselves, each other
Shadows and corners
Angles mired in perspective
As our choices unravel
She chafed against the friction of time
the soft music of when
the stilted rhythm of how
and all the missing lyrics
we had accumulated
during the hysteria of living
Silly things, she said
Dreams with no horizon
But every such silly thing
Was a deep abyss
That wove its needle into her wounds
Every wound too small to grieve
Too persistent to dismiss
Denial is easier
Or is it?
::x::x::x::
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