By Fatima Zehra
The abstract post-war
scenario of last November
was no means of catharsis;
reminds me of the raw smell
of expressionism and your
dying honey skin.
how words leapt out of
your smart mouth (with illicit skill)
and how well your dusty
fingers pierced my soul (not skin, this time)
and how, just how you were able
to murder our endangered dreams.
how you killed ’em all.
nevertheless I found peace in
your lewd reciprocity and
tragic seasonal violence,
your trapped sunset hues,
unfolding and untying
the most scared parts of me
had light years not existed
between our quaint 90s love story,
I wouldn’t ever ask you,
I wouldn’t ask you,
‘how many seasons it took to unlove me over again’
fall after fall
summer after summer
but all I hear is vague silence,
dripping down your lips.
perhaps those cold November nights?
flushed tides of our tragic end.
I’ve been trying to thaw my heart
waiting for your homecoming.
your goodbye was rather incomplete
more like half-joined pieces
of an unending jigsaw puzzle
which you had left behind
for me (to figure out)
a few pieces we hid in the hues of the auroras
some bound in my
and the rest?
they’re wrapped in soft violence, enough
for me to figure out that
goodbyes aren’t all that good
Fatima Zehra, 18, is based in Bangalore.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday is the blog of Cafe Dissensus magazine, based in New York City, USA. All materials on the site are protected under Creative Commons License.
Read the latest issue of Cafe Dissensus Magazine on ‘Travel: Cities, Places, People’, edited by Nishi Pulugurtha, academic, Kolkata, India.