In the Aftermath
Our wrinkles a portrait
of water and want-
sallow in sand
in the wake of a flood. Wound
in the rot of our elbows.
We cut through the sinus
and accuse each other
of being the thing that haunted
our childhoods. The skies
crumble. The rivers swell.
We fling our ribs
in the teeth of time.
for M
Untitled
In the nook of our throat,
there is a myth somewhere -
of mucous, membrane,
and monsoon’s last swirl.
The rage of ganga spilling
onto the cracks of the earth
. Of how the first drop of the last rain
seizes a slant of light on its way down
and a pearl is born.
The gusts of wet wind, the curve
of your clavicle and the crease
of your wrist. Clutching
it all in place. My name. Your mouth.
Of life as a verb for deliberate cling.
for M
Abhinav is a graduate student residing in Delhi. His work has appeared in The Deadlands Magazine, The Remnant Archive, gulmohur quarterly, Tide Rises Literary Magazine and other publications.