A Tryst with Destiny, an amalgamation of science, divorced families, and love
/the universe tends to not care. Disappointment is the side-effect of caring. So she decided to become a dark, cold void, and called it ๐ญ๐ช๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ด๐ช๐ด (an ache to let things go)/
There's a great distance between Maa and Baba when they sleep on the same bed. I didn't quite understand the reason so I called it dark matter,
โ ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ค๐ข๐ถ๐ด๐ฆ ๐๐ช๐ฏ๐ด๐ต๐ฆ๐ช๐ฏ ๐ด๐ข๐ช๐ฅ, ๐ฆ๐ท๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฑ๐ต๐บ ๐ด๐ฑ๐ข๐ค๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ข๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ.
/the only time the universe ever changes is when something unfortunate happens (the universe is forced to feel something; even ๐ด๐ฉ๐ฆ canโt escape from it)/
Maa picked up 53 moons of Jupiter and Saturn each, and strung them into two individual braids. The cosmos stayed in my hair the entire childhood, till it got combed out and fell like lice on the custody papers.
โ ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ธ ๐ ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ฌ ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ช๐ณ๐ง๐ข๐ญ๐ญ ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ฐ๐ฏ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ช๐ฏ๐ต๐ฆ๐ณ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ต.
/two planets collide, a meteor kills off an entire species, black holes take everything from the universe and give nothing in return/
Love doesn't come easy to the divorced family. It comes with the dirty pink walls of childhood, that look like the inside of my pulsating chest.
Our existence becomes a cosmic glitch of epic proportions. We stop seeing people as they are, we see them as we are, โ ๐ข ๐จ๐ข๐ณ๐ข๐จ๐ฆ-๐ด๐ข๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ฐ๐ง ๐ถ๐ฏ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ท๐ข๐ฃ๐ญ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ช๐ฏ๐จ๐ด.
I marinate my frozen lips in cheap red lipstick that smells like pickle (๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฅ ๐ช๐ด ๐ฏ๐ฐ๐ต ๐ข ๐ค๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฅ๐ข๐บ, ๐๐ข๐ข. ๐๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐ข ๐ด๐ช๐ฏ). In the crooks of my body my lover finds political resistances, chanting the sound of its holy unit, ๐ฐ๐ฉ๐ฎ | เฅ.
And when I sunbath everyday with gamma bursts and Baba's leftover aftershave,
He tells me,
"You look so happy."
โ ๐ธ๐ฆ๐ญ๐ญ, ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ญ๐บ ๐ด๐ฆ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ธ๐ฉ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐'๐ฎ ๐ธ๐ช๐ต๐ฉ ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ.
Aishwarya is a messy poet from Kolkata, India. The engineering student in her reduces the probability of sadness to near zero, by feeding itself salty newspapers of memes. The artist in her reads classics, and scribbles art on forbidden walls. Find her on Instagram @aish_whereya_at.