Flood
Every March
Something floods
This house
the wind conspires
And breaks the latch open
Things that we forgot mattered
Float out
Upside down
a pair of slippers, a comb? A body
a box of kittens,
the neighbor’s cat birthed last night
an umbrella and a useless drawer of pins
Things we forgot that mattered
the water just serves it all
Like a dish you didn’t order
In a lonely restaurant at the corner of the street
Even you
refuse to sink
Your face is anchored into the pillow
and I can’t help but wonder how long till the sun hits your face
Upside down
You choose to stay afloat
I leave my midnight guilt behind
When there is a flood
No one prepares you
for all the things you must leave behind
for the things you can only let drown.
Losing My Sense of Smell
Brewing tales all winter
The trees stand tall
And when words fall like leaves
I walk on the ground
Swirling with poetry
Sticky with the gum of passion
I am half sick of words
I cannot manage
With your words alone
Anymore
Even if your skin is the syntax
And touch a language
I can no longer learn
I am letting the flowers speak
The dried, crushed ones
The nameless ones growing in the dumpster
That don’t really smell like anything
My nose can no longer be trusted
I am sniffing out the whole of this season
Out of your palms
Summer is another word and so is grief
Both carrying something so strange
I can’t even name it
Swarnika Ahuja is an assistant professor in the Department of English, Vivekananda Institute of Professional Studies, GGSIPU. She is also an MPhil scholar in Delhi University. She has presented her papers in both national and international academic conferences. Her work has appeared in an anthology of poetry titled Monsoons: A Collection of Poems, The Indian Periodical and is forthcoming in Ghost City Review.