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Suppose I Spoke To Her

By Sreejit Datta


Suppose I spoke to her –

What harm will it bring

To anybody, eh?

I shall soothe the rage

That once moved her,

Having transformed the love of youth

That knew all the risks;

And yet hung from the cliff.

And I shall lay the cards

Of magic, omens, and fortune-telling

That she so loved, and that I caressed,

Once again on the table

Beside the coffee mug, and expectant hands

Bearing sparkling nails, upon

Nimble, expectant fingers.



Her eyes would be lowered

Not because they’d be shy, no,

But because those eyelids – exquisite things –

Can bear only so much

Of beauty,

And desire,

And fury.


By Sreejit Datta



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