Fire in the bookshelf,
down low, asking
How long will you keep on asking?
My hands never grew completely
even into the waiting. Waterfalls without a tongue.
It’s sick to be alone in this room
and not recognize anyone.
Imagine the beast shot, turning.
Empty heart.
I lashed
until the horse ran fast,
blinked as it looked nowhere,
broke open full of flower stems.
There’s so much I need
I think I need some space.
I blew the haze away
until it was just me there, threading. Shaken,
caving. It’s night,
it’s simple, get back
at sleeping.
At least, promise you’ll follow
me underwater;
say you’ll tidy me up once I’m done
looking fruitlessly.
You won’t be able to tell what for,
which way the light turns.
Yell at me if you do.
I think then, I could die there.
The floor is tired,
looking back at me, slammed.
How long
I’ve angled myself so
the light catches me over;
picks me to finish it.
Just for me to forget
language
by the end of it.
I need these legs
only to crawl out,
be carried and drowned
in any leaffall that could close
my eyes, finally.
Shereen Rana is a high school student residing in Bombay. She is fascinated by words, be it via reading, writing, speech, lyrics etc. Her work has been published by Stone Of Madess press before, (https://stoneofmadnesspress.com/shereen-rana). She also enjoys digital art and playing some instruments. She has been writing for about a year, mostly poetry, as school has kept her too busy to write consistently. She has found a home in poetry still, and hopes it’s ripe enough for others to feel it too.