Poison Ivy

By Yashika Vashisht

You made me fight for my life just by one look,

Like we were some characters in a fictional book;

You sung a song only I could hear,

A foreign sound tranquil to my ear.

I know everything from books,

Everything I sigh and quote is from learned books;

My mind’s shelves are packed in daydreams,

That only you know are dressed up in travesties.

And if everything around me is a reverie,

Then you’re the most beatific thing I’ve ever come up with;

I close my eyes softly and fall in love with the way I remember you,

Your eyes, your body, your soul and the sky painted tender blue.

I wonder if this is how we will get close,

By standing and watching the ice frozen ground grow a rose;

A eulogy eulogizing our silent conversations,

The stolen glances in a crowded room, filled with anticipation.

I write in a language hoping only we’d understand,

I don’t know if we are the rising moon over the enchanted land,

Or is the poison ivy just covering the dead wood?

Because we don’t look at each other the way friends would.

By Yashika Vashisht