the shards of a halted conversation
are sharp on the tongue,
when the word is finally said,
a little one, a longer one,
two words that are coloured
i have always wondered at this strong
bond, between the unsaid and the unseen
and how easy it is to forget that
the pause doesn’t mean a full-stop,
not in poetry, not in life.
the conversation is a piece of imagined
reality, a cake without icing, a ballad without
the rhyme, and the eyes without reflection.
so, talk, as if your words are going to rest
on my body,
before slowly sinking in,
the bleeding night-sky as the backdrop,
for this performative exchange.
© Anmol Arora
Linking it up with the Poetry Pantry at PU