What becomes of the memories that leave a bitter aftertaste?
or sting every time you cross them, like wasabi—
like smoke in your eyes
vapour tarnishing a ceiling of fire,
smokescreens melt into dust ferrying breaths.
remembrance finds a way into your lungs
before you get a chance to decide
if you want the hurt slipping
between your ribs—
or grief turning a vulgar crimson
tattooing un-consented touch.
anointing sin, carving a prayer
into your collar bones—
it is worship
for a fool’s holy grail
testament of your body holding grace.
but it fails—
your body, a war memorial.
Anuradha is an undergraduate student from Guwahati. Marvelling every day at what it means to be human, she is learning to experience life with the compassion and strength of a tree. You can find her on Instagram @yetra.z.
Featured image credit: Pixabay