un-portrait

colors wilt. the
summer hangs high on
her forehead, spurts

blood. my palms are nets
of lines that grow, collide,
fish ambiguity. and

suddenly constellations are nothing
but jealous wishes. from the other
side of the mirror, she
whimpers- come closer. her

lips are parched. i can
see the fear in her eyes, burning
hungry over her hollow-ness-

i can see myself reducing, i say,
quietly as time ticks her Soul off- i will
metamorphose into you

©Mohana Das

Lined to d’verse Meeting the bar

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8 thoughts on “un-portrait

  1. You are evolving but your work is so deliciously well done, I feel you are being too hard on yourself
    The emptiness that sometimes takes over as we grow is all encompassing I know.

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