Illustration by Mima Chovancova
We wanted to slice ourselves in equal halves
for ghosts that possessed our pasts,
who never apologized —
never locked eyes in the ballroom of our heart,
But the heart eventually shape-shifts
into the body's forgotten patterns,
the tongue swallows all that is bitter
until the hands grasp another clock
in the dark silence of the ballroom.
We spin seconds around our spindled skins
until our forefingers lock
like the syllables of rain.
Between two of your letters
you slipped in
a page as white as noon,
this is where we shall paint
our bright orange tango through life.
The horizon of your hands—
on my shoulder-valley,
what do we name ourselves?
Turn off the lights, darling
we will practise how to never
step on each other’s toes
and yet learn their softness by heart
a question mark around your waist,
we will measure our steps with summer haibuns
This is how we will answer the night —
arms swaying to the secret rhythm of stars,
our banalities gift-wrapped with laughter.
Debmalya Bandyopadhyay loves exploring the world with any tool he finds, be it his degree in mathematics or his affair with poetry. His hobbies and interests are as scattered and varied as his dreams.