Words are mighty

When I opened my machine after I-don’t-know-how many months,

I saw pictures of your palms on the always messed-up desktop
— challenging my knack for palmistry to read your fate
But the orange tint of your hands, adorned with shiny little fur, slanted over a thick book on your bed
Then reminded me that I should not.

Next to the photographs was .docx file of a story
In which the protagonist cuts deep the region below her little finger
–craving for love and  in a bid to design her fate herself,
for some stupid soothsayer, hogging some prominent space by the roadside,
scares her of hypothetical death of her lover before declaring that she has no love life at all
But dies in vain

In a flashback, there was reverberation of our last conversation,
I heard you urging me
to read your lines, and I saying “sometime later”
No, I…

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By Himanshu Kaishuvam Posted in Poem

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