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The Blue Hour
written by: Nisha Raviprasad
The weary dusk fades into the colors of the night.
I hold her hands tight as
we cross the sun-kissed lawn fragrant with white gardenias.
Under my torchlight, it looks like definite patterns
On mother’s rabri shawl.
Mother too had denied her, but for me
She is beyond everything, perhaps,
love’s beautiful curves
blatantly conceals the nudity of all truth.
That she was once a boy, a man, irks mother.
Across the tarred road flanked by cattails and wild lilies,
the river floats like a placid swathe dressed in midnight blue,
The river that dances flamenco during the rain.
The river fragrant with pickerel weeds and jacketed in the dense silence of a moonless night.
The moist sand tickles our toes as the silence that hung on our lips
curve into smiles.
I embrace the tears dancing on the edge of her fallen heart
As we reminisce our childhood on the banks of the same river,
swimming and catching fish, making garlands of panther lilies,
howling into gusts of wind that left dandelion puffs on our hair.
The crisp air melds into the darkness.
Our lips touch and our hands search each other.
We lay entangled and listen to the soft whispers of the river.
She beckons us home,
to explore her solitude.
The blue hour shall soon arrive with the stench of our muffled cries.