right then, i would so want
to hold your fingers tight
as the world floated-
a flock of yellowing swan-
‘cross miles of watercolor

and i would ask for none,
hear time whisper little echoes
in my ears- outside tender
ripples of autumn rise, disintegrate
the sea is a receding blur

beneath a moon (part-eaten
by lacewings), and too many tears
spiral neatly down these
balsamic after-hours
too much blueness
dripping from black limbs
of nameless trees and
right then, i just wished
you would press me quiet
against the poetry of your heart.

©Mohana Das


10 thoughts on “Longing~

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