by Rida Zulfikar
/ sau- li- tiyude /
[Noun]: a hitch in birdsong ; error in autumn
“In silence, music / is heard louder, i press my / ears to my pulses”
Reflection | egg splitting | drumbeat | weight of water in my eyes |
|drumbeat | reflection traces waves in my hair |
| oh, drumbeat |
|emotion and reason | drumbeat |
| I am split into two |
| alone || alone || alone||
1) the waves bring back dead corals; can I please go back home?
→ remember, foot crushing grass
→ remember, paper cutting clean through skin
→ remember, hands clutching each other alone
2) and so what does it take to break an orbit?
→ blood seeping on glass-threads
→ the cobweb succumbing to the brush
→ planet whizzing by, lost.
3) and so when does a reflection look back at you?
→ edge-cutting words, heavy words, words i dress myself up in
→ between lips, dead butterfly wings
→ stars copy-pasted on to-do’s
Rida Zulfikar is a poet living in Chandigarh, India. She has been published in the Journal of Undiscovered Poets, InkPantry, Visual Verse and more, and has authored The First Few Tiles of The Road. She is also the editor-in-chief of Mollusk Literary Magazine- dedicated to empowering writers and poets.
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