We have created an oasis for ourselves,
Which I truly believe
Is all dark, black pages.
Ink in our eyes,
Thought for memory.

Our love is a dust mote dancing to a beam of light with a severe existential crisis,
So I can’t say we make it,
The weight and way of this world is too much for us.
Do not tell me you care
Cause I swear it makes me feel the bones in my chest,
Feeling and navigating our emotions is a lost art
I only find
In the eyes of my ancient grandmother,
Who desperately clings to a song she can never quite remember.

I think the sky slipped right through our fingers
The moment we decided to store a part of it away in each one of us.

BY INDRANI PATI

MBA – II