“The Dry Shampoo”

By Parizad Gaur

A setting spray, flinched right on the front fringes-

Then, the vanilla scent on the crop top

Blue ripped jeans taken right from the cupboard, crumbled and cleaned-

Smelling like mother’s detergent-

I applied the blush of the same brand she uses every day-

It reminds me of her fair, pink,, and full cheeks-

Her blueberry eyes-

Deep and beautiful- absolutely beautiful- 

I snap back to the fact that I needed to run to the metro station- 

I hurry downstairs, get the lunch and stuff the potato tortillas in my blue tiffin- 

The smell of impatience all around the public transport- 

None of us is living in the moment, we’re all living in the metro station we need to drop on, 

Our offices, the coffee mugs, incessant talks and the aroma of grey pollution. 

Living all by myself- 

I realise that we all are there inside ourselves- 

The dry shampoo sitting by my side table, 

Misses me and I miss her- 

More than my hair serum. 

By Parizad Gaur