In Delhi a woman wears men’s perfume,
a chocolate oak growing geodesic leaves
that twine like dust particles in spotlight.
•
A city drenched yellow by traces of gravity,
there's no way out and it feels better in
the glitter of darkness. Wind-navy wishes.
•
They say she walks like a man or some
other thing in between, a left leg stomp
leaves a dust cloud as from royal rhinos.
•
They bathe in great numbers in the storm,
thick, wet miracles. No manuals to follow,
only the duty to breathe, invent freedoms.
•
Mathematics flashes its perfect teeth from
her unadorned lips, her happy algebraic
bites as she proceeds down clogged roads.
•
She looks out for signs from the celestial
council of bodies that decide destinations
of falling hearts. She carries hers close,
•
and those she has caught that float about,
curious and mute except for half-eclipsed
hums that still cast spells of compassion.
•
She forgets the oratory of the preacher,
as she forgets the chords on her guitar –
performs for you an improvised remix.
•
Her fingers dance on the merriest calculus
and her voice recalls the causes of infinity
and reminds you of the history of thought.
•
It’s so much more a thing of full colour.
Her deep songs shove you easily awake
from a long magic night, unremembered.
About the Creator
Shereen Akhtar
Shereen is a writer and poet based in London. She has had work published in Ambit Magazine, Wasafiri, The Masters Review, Magma and Palette Poetry amongst others. She received a London Writers Award. Her debut collection is out next year.
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