When you have seen leaves
guarded by pages of years
turn into tickets/
the chlorophyll has
burnt all the alphabets down to a script
of strange symbols you must know/
you must have known.
The grandpa tends to her
as she grumbles about the hospital lights
in the morning that keep her awake
and they bicker
over things trivial
like him being careless and she asking
too many questions
(how many times are they going to sew me up?!) and i am left
with curiosities
and answers too sweet
that i might start believing some
times perhaps the time lets other waves be.
There are dimensions to everything
that moves and the paper does a dance
when empty of night
like a pastel-colour-eye fluttering/struggles
to keep open on a face of napping sea/ when the tireless tide will awake
surely
dissolve all that dares to resist/
to hold my colour
do i lie flaccid in the bottle
labelled brown or blue till the end of time?
Feb 2021
