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In the Aftermath

Our wrinkles a portrait

          of water and want-

                               sallow in sand 

in the wake of a flood. Wound

           in the rot of our elbows.

We cut through the sinus

                      and accuse each other

of being the thing that haunted

                  our childhoods. The skies 

crumble. The rivers swell.

               We fling our ribs  

in the teeth of time. 

for M


In the nook of our throat,

                 there is a myth somewhere -

      of mucous, membrane,

                  and monsoon’s last swirl.

      The rage of ganga spilling

 onto the cracks of the earth

.               Of how the first drop of the last rain

 seizes a slant of light on its way down

      and a pearl is born.

              The gusts of wet wind, the curve

 of your clavicle and the crease

              of your wrist. Clutching

 it all in place. My name. Your mouth.

      Of life as a verb for deliberate cling.

 for M

Abhinav is a graduate student residing in Delhi. His work has appeared in The Deadlands Magazine, The Remnant Archive, gulmohur quarterly, Tide Rises Literary Magazine and other publications.

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