Ronojoy Sircar

No Jules, passed towns, not past towns.

“One might almost say that truth itself depends on the tempo, the patience and perseverance of lingering with the particular(…)”

Had she
been trying to
fall asleep,
she would not have
woken up.

So you can take
that shard out now,
it’s stuck right behind
your ear
They were careless
in their inspection

But maybe she doesn’t know,
Yet

Maybe she doesn’t have to
find out,
Yet

Poor girl.

There will be no bottle, corner, or moment
not left unturned,
with it’s contents unsullied
by the damp winter
morning air;
The mornings where the moon
Is as relevant
As that brown crust, that has
Now been preserved
In a cataract between
Space
and time,
Under that window sill
In the study,
for post-apocalyptic
viewers to harvest anew
a new Friday,
December the 16th,
Where
he would not fly out
The window
into black letters, that
thrown unsteady,
would come back
Shattering the porch window
of her heart,
Where roots would begin
to dangle uninhibited
Over a sea, made
of porches and boardwalks
Expanding into s p a c e s
Underneath
as he catches her shoe
Midflight
Once again, with that same
Wink, followed
by the same words
that now lie diagonal to the
Floor

“Loss is only half a memory”

So, no

Had she
been trying to
fall asleep,
She would not have
Woken up
to look for those slippers.

 

 

 

Ronojoy is from New Delhi, and likes to dance when no one’s looking under defunct street lamps.
You can reach him at ronojoy.sircar@gmail.com

 

 

Promote. Poetry.
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