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GUNTAJ ARORA
The Wordsmith
"There were fireflies
staging a celidih
right before her eyes
but she was blinded
by the sunlight's
gnawing touch."
Her eyeballs picture a
hundred constellations;
but her sockets
are stuck on one.
She hums, "do you hear my words, lost ones?
because the late moon
waits to hear my crumpled letters
and I might need you to
swallow them burnt tonight."
"My tales are no rubber arrows
they'll pierce right across your
lying heart,
burning your heart bit by bit ,
sending that set of nine
syllables to play
shenanigans with your
vulnerability."
She is ruminating right there under the entangled nests.
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