Chance

"I'm just light turning mortal, and

So are you. Circle and circle. Move

Is the verb we count on, even if it is

To the bottom of an absence, to the

Unlovable time, because all soft things 

Have things to save."

Courtesy: mojarto

    Gowri Suresh

For the cat asleep at my feet, I've got

Twelve names. This morning, we find 

Another, and I'm calling it Lucky.

We're mostly missing, we have to 

Be. Translate. Translate. Grieve. 

All the old towers have old air 

Around old words that keep us young

And dying. Read back and forth, they

Smell of blood, like wings do of coccoons.

I'm just light turning mortal, and

So are you. Circle and circle. Move

Is the verb we count on, even if it is

To the bottom of an absence, to the

Unlovable time, because all soft things 

Have things to save. Having broken 

Means having to keep breaking open 

And rearranging your bones to fit

Whatever ghosts you may come across.

To remember this means to gather

Colours off old paintings and feel them 

Grow heavy in your arms till you know 

You've carried them enough. Maybe

It's enough to taste your mother's

Sweat in the last drop of tea,

To crawl into a burnt building,

To fill the rooms with music and lay

Everything to sleep in a photograph.