Loneliness
Photo: Karan Madhok
‘half burnt cigarettes do the talking / when the sound of the room sleeps.’
When doors are slammed,
windows echo
one sound after another
tearing open the plaster of the walls.
cut off umbilical cords
fall on the roof like firecrackers.
My fingers sail through
the grey awning clouds
drawing patterns of each cloud
on my bare skin.
thumb and forefinger move like beaks of birds
pecking the snow of the body.
friction echoes a hiss
half burnt cigarettes do the talking
when the sound of the room sleeps.
How many bees do make a swarm
or how many are needed to build a hive?
***
Ritamvara Bhattacharya writes from a darling’s heart, Darjeeling. She believes in what Sylvia Plath said, “And by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it, and the imagination to improvise. The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.” She writes for the pleasure of it. She writes for the ‘I am’ in her heart, a voice that creates ripples and sensation.
