Divorced In Mid-Winter by Mit Shelke


Artwork by Hanno Karlhuber

Divorced In Mid-Winter


And in the apartment he doesn't live in anymore,

I visit every morning. Sometimes with garden plants,

or alone in the afternoon. I have still

kept the hundred wind-chimes he once

bought from Surat just because he wanted to.

Every time, the breeze passes inside,

some part of the house breaks into

song.

He wanted to look after the house,

so he turned our room

into a sky dotted with snow.

He hasn't seen snow yet.

The last time he slept next to

me, I thought of him

as a black trunk, sinking gently

into soil.

The time, he told me

He had to move away,

I walked the bridge over

a metro without a jacket. I have

never been so reckless.

The last time we ate dinner

at a cheap Chinese restaurant in January,

he couldn't look straight

When he said he will be gone.

For the first time in months,

I looked at him without anger

I saw him as a tree caught in

a field of live electric lines. He comes again

in memory, and he looks exactly this way.

Four years have passed, the tree is

in the same place, only surrounded

by dried grass.

Still moving deep into the soil.

I never understood the cold,

and how things return into

ground for a season.

But I have never knelt so long on the soil

asking for something to re-appear.



About the poet:

Mit Shelke is a second-year UG student pursuing his English Lit. degree. Currently based in Pune, some of his love poems are set to appear in Ariel Chart Journal. This will be his second attempt at publishing. He is in constant search of bougainvillea but often finds them alive in their last moments.

 

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