Divya Manikandan, Summer 2017

Instead of tile stains and coffee mugs
I see fresh mud splattered across the
white canvas of a bearded artist
rediscovering his sound in the middle
of Milan.

Instead of your lean demeanour and your blue overalls
I see nebulas of iridescent spectacles
floating around and condensing on the
freshly tinted glass of the door
of a 1960 Chevrolet.

Instead of pulse monitors and intravenous drip stands
I see Swiss guards with red and silver poles
marching in unison to the sounds of
my flaxen maiden from the night I
decided to skip town.

Instead of white couches and black flat screens
I see auroras in emerald jungles
with mellifluous bird chirps
and raw ruby fruits dangling off
toxic greenery.

Instead of you standing there spelling
out the MRI that holds images of my
intricately woven brain tumour.

I see white sandy beaches
dark legend bat ridden coves
and a distant sailboat with magenta sails.

And I’m going away.





Divya is a wandering bit of humanity just waiting for the lightning to strike.

Promote. Poetry.
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