To the one who forgets the exit door from my life by Anjali Bhavan


I refuse to not watch you with my teeth.

My feelings towards you could be best described

as monsoon hunger, seaside rushes.

They will take you hostage, they will

hang onto your tie as you cycle to work.

You will not regret a single moment, you will

lounge around white curtains, a shadowy porch

Littered with cat hair and cotton threads.

You will look up to the old tree

swaying to the lilt of the rain, and think about

me wrapped in your shirts, making snow angels

with the bed sheets.

It will be summery and mosquito-ey. It will be

whiplashes against the chimney, a tender

puncture in the back tyre of your drenched

Maruti. I would wander kilometres away with

practiced insouciance, waiting for you to pick me up

and carry me home. You would gnash and snarl,

and also rub my hair until they’re dry with static-

which fades in insignificance to what I will feel

for you. Welcome to the zoo, throw your trinkets

away. This is my madness, and you are the showstopper.


More poems by Anjali here.

 
 

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