All The Words That I Write

By Ritik Gautam

All the words that I write

will not settle — the glee,

fingers intertwined, meadow-sweet.

Fountain at center, silhouette like twins.

Do you smile through your eyes,

or is it just the way you chin?

The sky bled quiet, gentle in the wee —

days folded into letters:

a torn rose with a leaf.

Talks about infinity and what’s beyond?

Twirled in the same fabric,

threads of plush — perhaps neon.

A mad air recurrent, treading my door;

unseen — scattered — spellbound.

A kiss — like I never had before.

A bruise on the back of my hand,

yours with rings — our fingers align, one after another,

rivulets running down to a gulf stream.

If the blood rushed, let it run through the veins;

eleventh hour taken by the euphoria —

depth of melodies — undrained.

Edge of the earth — you / me / nowhere.

A flap of a bird, silence swayed in the dim;

time folded like wings — light disappeared.

A life has been lived — graffiti-joy in bold.

I can see the magma shine through your eyes;

desire to see the volcanoes — no more.

By Ritik Gautam