There are days when I fantasize about
clean white sheets and a shiny water
faucet bending down with its slender
neck over a tub full of Lemon Zest
Body Wash and luxury.
I don’t think it’s shallow that I love
the cold burst of air folding out
into the cantilevered balcony like clouds of heavenly
mirth- now mingling with potpourri
and cedarwood incense.
It only makes sense that I don’t like
Things on my skin-it wrecks my day;
And muddy hands or flowers in my hair
There’s solace in the patterns of the
Forest green wallpaper;
I wish I could say the same about
the stretched out sky over the sticky
autumnal earth and bees swarming-
and hell breaking loose over the
Barely-there shrubbery- so unkempt.
Indian Review | Authors | Read the works of Megha Saha on Indian Literature Magazine | Megha is a 19-year-old first-year student at Gujarat National Law University. Her poems have been published in eFiction India, Textploit and Saintbrush. She has sudden bouts of affection for sugary food and steaming-hot coffee. Although she hails from Kolkata, she hasn’t been able to make peace with the unbearable humidity.