1 min read


Here, Sit with Me


Here, darling friend, sit with me. Today I’ll tell you that

a thought took hold of me last night. The thought that 

I’ll never make it to twenty-five.

Annoying.

I agree with you.

I thought the same about

Twenty-four six years ago,

And seventeen when I was seventeen.


Enough with the numbers now.

Yesterday I was at your house for breakfast

I like that you have sprinkled some of your

soul all around.

Maybe I’ll buy a big mirror like yours

or that closet organizer

Maybe that beautiful sink.

Don’t be weirded out, I only started learning how to live 

six years ago. Let me

imitate your soul because I cannot find where

mine is.


Ah, why do you want to know about the stones in my pockets? 

We are not near the sea.



The Frost Returns

Something’s afoot. 

An end. 

The sky changing colors. 

Lovers quarreling. 


The frost plaguing my heart returns.

I dreamed we would have a house together.

You would have your room, and I would have mine. 

I would wait patiently for you to decorate your room and invite me in. 


An invitation to my soul. 

But my soul isn’t singular; 

yesterday I was the woman who promised to take you to a life-changing workshop, today I am the man you wait for at the coffee table, tomorrow I’ll be your reflection in the mirror. 


I create versions of you, elaborate characters, I drown you in the voices of other people. 


We’ll never be together, this was false advertisement, you’ll be in another city lamenting that you want to see me. I don’t remind you that we could have shared a bookshelf.


I Befriended an Earthworm

I befriended an earthworm on my way to hell. 

Eyeless, toothless, soulless, nameless

We had everything to bond over.

Why was I on my way there?

It was a naming of a feeling.

To whom, asked the earthworm

To myself, I said.

We talked about the university elections, and then the world.

I asked if it will go back to the soil.

Will you, said the earthworm.


I showed my friend a photograph I took of

a painting I painted of a café by the sea.

We have to recreate this

Until then, the soil will wait.

I’m bound by a promise.



While I Searched for My Toothbrush

While I searched for my toothbrush this morning

I found sorrow with my name on it

Does it have an origin or is it a gift from my mother?

I click references and I never paint them

I borrow books and they remain unread

I buy a plant and then I let it die before me

I collect bottles to keep them empty

One day I’ll buy a Turkish rug I’ll never use

Will the rug have someone else’s name on it?

Will that concern me when I’ll not be a witness?




Shail Priyadarshani can be found reading Anne Carson, Virginia Woolf and Mahmoud Darwish when they are not reading critical theory or legal texts. They write in order to make sense of their ever eventful life. They live in Delhi and sometimes visit Darbhanga.

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