Ode to words writ in water | Rangona Bandopadhyay

The end of the night is always dry
I blink and get redressed
out of breath. Gone by the wind
something revolves, slippery touches
find you gone, trying too hard is not the trend
Apparently.

The yellow stings on the bed-rest
a strange song. He is absent.
So, I beat him with the ink instead
in the alley where I found him first
He borrowed my heart on a flowered spread
Yet to bloom.

Each night our bodies work this way
a constant buzz. a revolving miracle
sprung out of rhythm they say. I am beat.
Could I touch your hair this time and
put my soul on display?
My little squirrel is what you said.

I remember the feather-eyed speck on your neck
the one she clawed away
like an eagle out at hunt, and along she came;
rust at her fingertips, tune on her heels
While I was still parked out by the lake

Later, she cracked the code
and I faked my smile like a woman fakes
the peck on cheeks and out together late
The diamond cried on her finger. The bed sheets are well-fed.
End of town smell like whiskey. 
You are married, or so the paper says –
At night, alone, I buried the dead

Rangona has completed her Bachelors in Literature from St. Xavier’s College and can be found watching Modern Family or cooking white-sauce pasta in her spare time.