The rains are home. Guwahati has been flooded. Under my skin, a sudden vacuum has replaced every other thing. Suddenly I’m walking without bones.
Something like a bag of blood.
A bag of shadows.
There isn’t even an hour to ask myself why. Because there is no why. I had volunteered, walking right into a blinding black hole. And there is no escape now.
So under my skin, there are atoms discharging their souls. Everything is plasma-like. Only thinner. So much that plasma is a hollow, contracting around my ribcage till there are fake stars blossoming all over my borrowed sky.
There is this city, her background woven of hills. Brocade woods melt nonchalantly into urbanity. Nothing has a border. Nothing wears a smile. Days pass in counting hours. Hours in little blasts that I mostly ignore.
When I stand under the shower i can finally see the burns.
Mornings tilt and are swallowed from an empty cup. Afternoons have been scraped. When I think of nights, I no more think of love. My heart is already broken and I am an intercepted sigh.
A bird shot down mid-flight.
I regret asking the Goddess atop the hill for peace. I should have asked Her for death instead.