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a journal of literature & art

10-Erasure

Erasure

Thoughts of you are stitching an afternoon for me

longing for you has shred it into pieces—

Silence has morphed and shaped itself around me

embracing me like your strong arms

Constant buzzing of the fly

trapped between the thin wire screen

Shattered mercilessly by this boisterous gale

that has left this room in despair

How much of you has been erased from my memory already?

Who can possibly measure that?

Time itself becomes indecipherable for me

and I’m losing you by the minute

A pale yellow stock of photos thinning

with every passing minute

Saved as the triggers in my chequered box

my doctors want me to visit them as a memory exercise

A bluebird trills its morning song next to my window

a tune that I fondly remember and hum along

I see yourself in me—

standing in front of the mirror

Like a fogged memory,

waiting for thick warm hands of yours 

to come and dust off the chequered box, again.

Megha Sood

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