Parched.

Brinda Gulati

 

I wonder if liquid sunshine pitter-patters on your windowpane.

Whether you wish for my lulling presence on crowded nights,

if you scrub away vexing thoughts of me, like a wine stain;

I wonder if you hear my laughter in a thousand lights.

Whether it is my brown eyes in your coffee mug that you swirl,

if you struggle with math and smile at my mirroring complexity,

whether, in everyone you search for that knotty girl;

I wonder if it is my reflection in still waters you see.

If behind closed doors you long for a silhouette tossing in your sheets,

whether traipsing in corridors eclipses the crumbling walls,

if my absence matches your footsteps on cobbled streets.

I wonder if you touch solitude in deafening halls.

And if ever,

you are lost in the smoke from your lit cigarette

dancing in my form,

you’ll find yourself wondering

– you’ll find yourself wondering, how,

your chasms are still flooded

by my raging storm.

I wonder if liquid sunshine pitter-patters on your windowpane.