Ink Drinker

By Sagarika Das

All of your pieces, All of mine

I have engraved them as poetry,

Sometimes wishing you were here,

Sometimes hoping I'm enough,

Intertwined with misery,

Twirled around with secret songs of the playlist,

In the jar of biscuits,

Under the carpet rug,

On the branches of trees too far to reach,

In the coppery earthy eyes,

Swirling with a secret of the galaxy,

I have engraved some pieces of you,

Some pieces of mine,

In notes of my book,

Closed and dusting,

And yet,

I can feel the essence of your skin,

The weight of your lies,

The ink on my pages like thorns,

Bleeding me red,

Red as in love,

Red as anger,

Watering the flower of my garden,

Too dead, too shallow,

Too dark, too cold,

Crippled in the race of life,

And yet,

I will go back to these inked pages,

For these words sew the seam of my soul,

Painting my skin with your love,

Like the first day,

The sound of your voice,

Gave me butterflies.

By Sagarika Das