#dhritwritesforherentirety

[fantodsdhrit]

things written—on your behalf go unspoken in the ruins of harappa where you lie chagrined, i wait on your vague curiosity establish entry to your noor a cloud nicking midnight moon you form sycamores, cassandra lends me her ear; uncertainty looms large where lack of words have a story of their own they rotate in circles escape arteries and crash over your bathroom mirror where condensation occurs now goods differ from services when you measure things from a point when he knocked out your fragile body you didn't go back you stenciled me out.

[photographyinashell]

come back evening

[fantodsdhrit]

she has—white lotus renaissance beneath her feet before she enters sabarimala temple she never does the menstrual wheel rolls on it has a face of feathered revolution, isthmus liberty of spinal cord in pursuit of worshipped moist sandstone, the structures are held by a chain of hands not iron or the great wall; what expo held on moon's surface brings a starshipped goddess to rescue yoni before semi-cohered gods in saffron can make a move bastille is a no-show what bellows pools into immortality, medusas are vital and—not their heads alone.

[fantodsdhrit]

when one—goes deeper in me they would find you like a tiny island combing your hair sifting through piano keys in the british council lobby there isn't much that some find audible, that desolate emptiness is beautiful but everybody shuns it before actually looking; you glue your shadow on an origami owl wait to take a bite of the night sky etching oceans in your veins, i feel neolithic because every single forest fire is my dead aunt, who gave me milk bottles to stomach and taught me how to make bubble from bubblegum, that time marigolds were in.

[fantodsdhrit]

my sister—says, "the vicissitude of felicity has found its permanence someplace, not in your eyes." her soulmate has many seashells kept refrigerated she never went back to get them, today she narrates dramas hidden behind my shoulders juliet puts the knife down keeps the bamboo plants in sunlight; civilizations have smudged my khadi bush shirts i give reveries a nod with handicrafts, culture stores apples in silver amulets fire aglow we were meant to prance around, be forgotten, papers asked us to move over skeletons buried under orchids.

[fantodsdhrit]

i could—write something that you could relate to and be an epitome of countless groves on the banks of narmada, occupy a corner in the washroom and stare at you or end like 1979; i come with trade winds when you, pirouetting, velvet, post-xmas, in your classroom corridor exhibiting your tea collection, stop by gather what has been tilled by our bodies in seasons churning languish past the bear, you pepper yourself in between time slow flapping wings while we flicker on obliquely, i murmur enough for you to run your fingers over our ellipticity.

[fantodsdhrit]

end of the year—ahead you have wine lips and asphalt complaints monsieur i call you, your kings have hammer opposite of how you left the land close to mine where they've divided nations you're the other side, you're beyond oceans, it's cold in my room; we talk in quasi tongues when you've starved your words for him breathing mercy mercury, it takes more to recap all of you yet i do it again, scale you and bury you further in my secret garden i stay awake while you sleep after a chain of events unlike your birthday i'm without your pictures.

[fantodsdhrit]

time spent—on escalators how things perplex you with hand-cream, junk food commercials you keep your body here your mind in orbit on some navigation satellite gravity of currency transactions hunting knife keep you bemused; i keep my hand over black railings you escort yours on mine and there is nothing but time in january so you can leave my seeds, dry fruits on some cafeteria table, so, well, i can air into fabrics with defined continuum, i can hold you from behind and kiss your earlobe earring and whisper apologies till samsara fractures like i.