If tears had colour,
mine would be a deep black:
the sorrow concentrated
to its maximum,
trickling down, making pathways.

The silent cries
of still nights
that went unnoticed,
like forgotten histories,
will then leave behind
proof of you not being
part of me anymore.

If traced, they’ll be found
in the insides of my ears,
the contours of my neck,
the crevices of my breasts,
making their way to my thighs,
nesting there.

Mornings will then be
witness to these pathways,
the rough-cut maps
of sorrow left behind
by centuries of anguish.

A smear of black tears
across the left cheek
of the earth – 75% water,
25% hardened, colourful tears,
as the earth teardrop
shed by the universe
falls rapidly
because you stare into forgetfulness,
because you look away,
from my ashen, ugly,
tear-stained face.

Author : Tejaswini Kale

Tejaswini Kale a poet and short story writer has been published in magazines cross India.