Manju Kachuli
Sometimes with someone else’s wind in your retina
You come draped in it as your shirt
I visualize through those unspoken words
Its transparency
I smell the swirl on the surface,
Mist and fog in the middle,
That harrows my synapses with pain
In that way spikes of broken glass smile back with tears
And speak feelings: “Now you can’t see your face in me
Broken I am by your stony fist and hailstone blows.”
Nothing remains to be grasped
Spilled water grieves and flows till your departure
Running with water, hurt spikes deny their pain
Shattered/crushed/their prongs rise up
With hope that March will bring back the light
Swallowed in midnight’s night
Except for the shattered glass prongs
Inject their pain
Piercing light fans itself into the blood’s depth;
Cells awaken
Depth is sensed, never fathomed.