You never used to read books
but you knew all their stories by heart,
and narrated them to me with such clarity
as if they were etched on your life and memory.
Your skin looked too pale and white,
whenever you held my hands,
despite being engraved with so many words,
so many scars. I always used to think
that this ink stains us beyond measure,
Then, I knew we poets are born with acetone
flowing through our arteries along with the blood,
when it becomes too visible to the naked eye.
Once, you narrated a story
I had never heard or read before,
you told me that your sister didn’t narrate this one to you
like all the others that you narrated to me.
You also told me that it was your favourite
because it was about an old woman
living a life of seclusion in the middle of a forest,
But it sounded funny because you said
That day, I learned the difference between beauty and sublimity.
You were the forest separating the two.
It made me question the difference
between your skin and your eyes,
between the words that lay beneath that skin
and the scars that lay above.
who would narrate stories to me
and would ask me the title of the book.
But they only ever tell me the beginning.
They say they haven’t finished reading the books yet.
was about The History of Love.
I had to reread it because I couldn’t understand
And when I did, it tore me to pieces.
And now whichever piece I pick up,
it has the ending of any one of your stories
that were engraved beneath your skin,
but now the bleeding is too profuse
I remember how we used to enjoy trains rides
more than we ever enjoyed long drives,
I also remember you made sure to hold my hands
because they were always too cold,
and you always waved frantically
when it was time for me to go.
But now I realize there was nowhere for me to go to,
and when you don’t have a home,
you don’t need to go through a journey.
Now whenever I wait for the train,
I often have someone standing beside me,
narrating the beginning of a story.
But I keep looking for you on the opposite platform
even though I know that in order to hold your hand again
I would have to miss the next train
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