Untitled button poetry stories

barshachangkako Community member
Autoplay OFF   •   9 days ago
The first time we went out for ice cream, that summer night,

From https://www.instagram.com...

The first time we went out

for ice cream, that summer night,

with only a 50rs note in my pocket

and my heart out on my sleeve,

I faked a sore throat because the shopkeeper refused to take

feelings as payment.

When you held me in your arms

the first time, that following winter,

the hair on my back gave me a

standing ovation, my heart

did a 360deg cartwheel and my brain

sat back in amazement,

whispering you finally did it.

All this time I have prayed with empty

hands, for us and hoped that you ask nothing of me

-except this body

My body is a home with a leaky roof, where mother cooked hot paranthas on the stove with only one working burner.

You might never be full;

but you never went to bed hungry.

-except these arms

Embrace me and cry out a river.

You could overflow in my arms.

And while you do so, I'll be rejuvenated under your rose petal skin.

My flesh singing your name.

-except my lips,

humming your favourite song

in the subway and the memory

of the distance between them being traversed by your lips; like finding a matching coloured thread to

sew the hole in your lucky shirt,

that you wanted to wear,

to the first day of work.

The first time you wondered about us,

I climbed out my window and weaved you a blanket, out of the eyelash that rested on my cheek, the one I wished on so desperately, to find you. You held it tight and wrapped it around your skin

and let the warmth seep in, turning

your doubts into assurances.

The first time we lay in bed, tangled in each others arms, we were like two alphabets of my mother tongue,

making love.

Unknown, unheard.

Their rough tongues cannot

pronounce us. Dare they try to

speak us, we'll get lost in the

cruelty of this world.

The first time we fought, I felt

so empty, I floated like a

weightless doll amidst the

blue of your sky. I drank the sun for breakfast and kissed you to

melt the icy wall around your heart.

I cried so hard I made it rain

over your hometown so that

you don't have to worry about

watering your plants. So that your parents can dance in the rain

even in the midst of September.

I have nothing to offer you

-except my heart,

like a rose plucked

from its home, only to be discarded

by the side of the road.

Until you placed it within the pages of your bible and now it sing hymns

about your hair and how it falls

perfectly into curls.

-except these poems,

about the shape of your eyes,

the curve of your nose

and how your hand fits into mine.

So I offer myself to you,

on a plate with paranthas,

and a dash of bad poetry

as we embark on another year.

Let's go back to that ice cream vendor

I heard that he's selling hearts.

-(c)Barsha Changkakoti

Stories We Think You'll Love 💕

Get The App

App Store