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Night Song by Rishitha Shetty

Artwork by Maanvi Kapur

At night,

we dangled our faith on

the edge of a teacup.

The dream was to find

the quiet depth of

history in the dark.

Look how the country hangs

from our teeth, how our

wet hair spills rain into streets.

I fear language born

out of the untethered-

tea-scalded faith,

the torn shreds of this city

pilfering sunshine,

the heartbroken priestess,

infidel gods.

Tonight, I took my time with all my stories.

Here we sat, on tall

old buildings,

between bleeding walls

and dubious silence,

our faces wearing the

same shape as the day this

city was torn down,

our words rattling from thievish winds,

but the world below us was warm.

Follow Rishitha's work on Instagram.


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