Prisha Lekhak
A chasm of deep void
Fissured in the silence
That lingers.
Plastered across the puddles;
Are forlorn faces
Of your own reflections.
Dirt-hewn fingertips,
Too reluctant to wash
Bone-bitten nails
Ache when they scratch.
Tears glisten like sapphire,
For that’s what they’re worth
In the guise of
Unsuspecting outbursts
Bloodshot eyes,
See past the nights
Wrapped ’round her limp anatomy
Like a mother’s love—
A scarcity that haunts her
Forever and more.
