The Sum of Everything
a raw, summer star upon your eyelid,
a crushed grass-blade beneath your heel
the remnants of a dewdrop that cling to your shoe
a bruise of sky on your chin
the initial sum of everything
you hold an eclipse between your fingers,
like a thin volume of love songs
a shooting star twisted into your lashes
the shape of a song that trickles down your lips
and circles your adam’s apple
the growing sum of everything
there is a crater between your brow,
and, the evening’s sketched onto your arm
mingling with the saffron of dawn on your forehead
this rendezvous of light on your being
the combined sum of everything
a shooting star chisels a verse,
picks up your wrinkles, and your clinging scars
arranging them onto the expanse of your cheek
till they read like a poem
something like a poem
the ultimate sum of everything
Between Two Dreams
my mother is bleeding this month, again, just like she bleeds
every month, and the crimson has just begun to adorn
the hem of her sari, she sees me looking and smiles
and tells me that one day, I will bleed this way
my mother is bleeding this month, again, just like she bleeds
every month, and the color has just begun to leave the surface
of her cheeks and
she sees me looking and smiles
and tells me that one day, I will pale this way
my mother is bleeding this month, again, just like she bleeds
every month, and she doubles over, more than once and
she sees me looking and smiles
and tells me that one day, I will double over this way
my mother is bleeding this month, again, just like she bleeds
every month, and she spreads a rag over the chair
where she sits, and eats, and then she shuffles
from one position, to another, and yet another and
she seems me looking, and smiles
and tells me that one day, I will shuffle this way
my mother is bleeding this month, again, just like she bleeds
every month, and she crouches in the corner,
with cold, raw fingers, she scrubs crimson clouds
from the saris that bear the fragrance of her day
and then she scrubs, and squeezes, and scrubs
puddles of twilight gather at her feet and
she seems me looking and smiles
and tells me that one day, I too will scrub
the twilight from my attire
my mother is bleeding this month, again, just like she bleeds
every month, and at night, she tosses and turns
moonlight rubbed into her bedclothes
says, that she’s lingering between two dreams
says, she’s struggling
to choose one
About the Author: I am Praniti Gulyani, a sixteen year old girl from India.
