Collect Yourself At My Senses Poem by Sreya Bhattacharyya

We render to different phases. Every energy ever created, eventually recognized, bottled up and was sent to sold for a very good price. I have been rejected by myself for reasons strong enough to deploy every unrest and expectation one can place upon oneself.

I see children at the blue star studded skies, the fill up her forehead. Her broadened lips with strangers of colours and summed up contour around every corner. She loses herself in another set of colours.

Her sudden distraction and her punishments ended up in blue black blotches on the left half of her forehead. All her stars and all her skies has since shifted off to her right, the left half remained colored and marked. A dull night sky with a seldom dead, a few alive.

We master in juxtaposing believes and lies. Such contraries. We justapose skin and poetry.

You pick calcium from the left over of my skin, and I pick you up from the stones at the corner of our eyes.

May we ever start a conversation.