The Poetry Marathon

Paperweight—

deaths occurred

in the pandemic.

Hey! 

Hi!

What are we doing here?

Waiting!

Waiting for who?

Waiting for book delivery.

Great which book? 

Waiting for Godot.

hypoplasia

she lays her hand

rests it on my breast

too tender

and tiny

for handcuffs

soaked almonds

the parlour lady

arrives with her weapon

mother peeling off

the almond skin

I scream too

second breakfast

hoping to see the

couple butterflies again

I scroll through

his memorialized account

one butterfly is gone

midnight power outage

employment interviews

on the upcoming day

I hear the neighbour

using my catchphrases

ecstasy

name combiner

looks faded

we solved with our favourite

fictional characters name

mentioned on hallucinating pages

Twinning on a Thursday evening

with my friend Nine,

a green, shabby yet shy one,

but doesn’t hesitate to join.

We went to barber shop,

on the way we found,

he bought me a pistachio ice cream,

I gave him my calm.

An eyeshadow palette

filled with sand

consisting particles

of broken bottles

of broken shells

carrying letters

found at the seashore,

read them only to escape boredom

On a night full of stars,

I drink wine stirred by the flowers.

I raise my glass offering a glass to moon,

and noticed my shadow holding the same.

The gentle sensationn of seclusion

down the throat,

softening the syllables of every word uttered.

Seeking the slices of the moon,

on a table covered with upholstery planets