by Chakrika Pandey
this is how I remember it,
voids yawning at me as I lay
my memory inside a petri dish;
in between scattered threads
coloured purple and neon green
you might have seen too
a restlessness of something missing,
like Hume’s shade of blue
as I found it
for lengths waving at me.
just see it like this,
my heart inside your heart inside my heart
expecting Karl Kruas’ to be the saint’s word
immer passt alles zu allem,
and maybe that is why I asked you to walk with me.
the sunny side of the street,
yellow leaves of the spring spread over,
waiting to turn brown under our feet.
and one rotten step to the next, we traipsed
our way to our own little tragedy.
everything fits with everything.
whenever my fingers slipped inside yours,
the world inside me inside you inside me
turned small and smaller;
and the radix of warmth,
in the closed economy of bodies,
begged quietly
to the bleached bones of time
while unnoticed and unaware
our eyes shifted
to settle within the gaze
of distance pulling its head apart
one light year an instance, and we
swirled like all planets move
— without sharing the same orbit.
Chakrika is writer based and brought up in India. She has a degree in English Literature and a few scattered publications, including features in –algia and Roi Fainéant. Always chasing stories, she is currently working as an assistant editor for a publishing house.
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