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The art of drowning

??n??? ?? ²°°². ??? ? 5. ?????? ? n????. the last ray of the winter sun kisses my freckles while I watch my elder sister rubbing her ink stained arms alongwith a few streaks of blood, hissing with teary eyes "Poetry is for dead lovers. Never make the mistake of even tasting art. It is a sin. You will end in ruins." ????n? ?? ²°°8. ??? ? ¹¹. ?????? ? ??????. my sister wakes up screaming one night. standing by her door I watch my mother shush-ing her she screams, shivers and then she breakdowns. after an hour, my mother tucks her in. walking up to me she whispers, "Maybe this is why natural disasters have human names- But listen to me child, take care of your sister for maa okay." ?????? ?? ²°¹5. ??? ? ¹8. ?????? ? ????. my lover breaks the silence, shoving his hands to his pocket he asks how was I- "My heart's a mess, what else is new?" the pink sky sighs as the dandelions alongside my sister's grave keeps me company. Here lies Ankita- daughter, sister, friend, lover "-and a poet that became a poem." i add. ???? ?? ²°¹?. ??? ? ²². ?????? ? ?????n. "my lover says taste like a sinner and yes I admit I have tasted poetry so forgive me maa, for I have sinned." She looks at me- scared, worried and disgusted. "But my love, poetry is for the dead!" Pouring another bottle of whisky in my coffee cup, I look at my (now) frightened mother "Whisky burns your throat, but love burns your heart . . . and Maa, I have been dead for so long."

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020




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Date: 10/18/2020 6:30:00 AM
Poetry is not for dead lovers.... Emotive poem..
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