Zephyr
written by: Tamoghna Mukherjee
How long will you keep the zephyr captivated
if it goes on whispering your paramour’s name?
The indignant windowpanes rattle in the vigour
of exposing something clandestine;
a dissonant tone of slander attempts to ricochet
off the walls of your zany yet symbiotic adolescence.
And yours is a heart of the moon, still veiled by
clouds too laconic to let any pulse pass through.
Yours is the appetite for confiding every tale
of yearning that you bear through reincarnations,
whetted relentlessly by the wind astute enough
to melt your heart with its gusts of quietude.
How long will you keep the zephyr ensnared
if it becomes the sole witness to the surges of
your tears, the ancient coldness of the mute deity
pressed tightly against your unruly breasts,
and the shivers that slither down your spine
the moment that name alights upon your flesh?
No wonder you’ve never come to know
what truly, truly, truly is going on—but
free the wind before it gets smitten with you.
