half poem half dream.


The ineptitude of the soul in dealing with loss.


I was never good at math. You did this, then I did that, then you did this, then equations of differentiation inert.

How all this addition of time, and hands that clenched, is summed up in a hole, abyss.

I was never good at science. You touched me, and cells awakened, and I touched you, and the earth still moved.

How all this physical matter resulted in combustion, leaving pulverized steam I once licked off your skin, a world away.

I was never good at business, you gave this, and then I gave that, and you took again, and kept the fists open for gifts I never knew were precious.

How all this profit left us bereft, my waist a hollow sphere of foreign bank notes, useless.

But I was always good with words. And you, never with listening.

How the benediction fell dead on this gravesite of knowledge we once called love.


2 responses »

  1. Hey Hind, loved, loved, loved it especially the word-play. You are a poetic genious. Bless you

    ps: We met at the Cultural Night Market this year:)


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