Rigorous
Volume Two, Issue 3



Tiyasa Khanra


Tacenda

 

A calendar set to the August noon,


painted haphazardly


by mouth.




Can I unbolt the door?




Salt-sweat oozes


from half-shut eyes.


Half-drunk cup of tea,


cooled, detoxed,


but not forgotten.




Where am I shelved?




The gentle moans


lost in the rumble of thunder,


My dust-greased hairs


flutter.






Frivolous makeshift, am I not?




Dandelions fatten,


Grapple me in.


Confused scuffles


down the spiral staircase.




A canopy of tenebrosity.


My almost burnt cigarette.




The razor-thin line


between Love


and Lust,


and a set of


amaurotic mortals.




Broken knees


of a dancing ballerina,


I fall.


Bronzed from head to ankles,


I fear,


my line ends here.




Mahogany

Eight minutes to twelve,
I drove down the winding roads in a sleepless stupor,
counting fireflies.
Screeching tires, blaring horns and my languid soul drew map to the quietude,
too illusive to trust.
I had my name carved on a mahogany,
the one I was promised.
An unreal willingness chivvied to find the right vines.
I trailed along my own blood on the grass.
There were flashbacks.
My noctambulant self followed the dragmarks.
I had to answer the call.
But the more I plunged in,
the deeper it was.
Soon, I lost track.
An artillery shell of diaphanous silence hit my bosom
and I winced.
The nights that followed saw recurrence on a blank canvas until a daybreak when I heard someone say,


‘Are you like me? Are you alive or just pretending to be so?’


Tiyasa Khanra "I am a nineteen year old published poet from Kolkata, India. I believe in the power of words and phrases and dreams to create a vibratory change through my rantings."




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