you are a dream made of ashes
and every time i hold you
my fingers are hidden under
the smoke of the darkness
shrouding your body
and so i stand at a distance
gaping at you with my lungs holding
more agony than air.
the sky doesn’t colour itself anymore
it knows better than to paint for an
audience bathed in colours of
fading pleas and forgotten names.
the wind laments the death of a nation
the silence of a home ceasing to be
birds chasing clouds whispering
promises of warmer sunsets
the ground breaks open
to let rivers of your ache flow in
and hold together millions of heartbeats.
-s.g. // azaadi, azaadi, azaadi.
Susmita Ghoshal is an 18 year old from Mumbai, India. She’s a lover of poetry, history, cats and is currently doing her undergrad in dentistry. You can find her on Instagram @idksush and more of her work @iknowsush