[Issue 12 / 1 Feb 15]
Isn’t it funny just how
“tween going to bed with Sexton’s verses, and
Waking up to Ashcroft’s Symphonie,
p a u s e d,
It smiled as the frothy Ubaal
In my morning masala chai;
Blushed as the pretty beige,emerald,azure scarves
around slender necks;
and Sang in Ghalib’s Urdu in a dusty College street bookstore.
Winters in my city
seduced with Krishnochura-red blossoms and wild-evening fragrances,
Because Winters in my quaint li’l city
Existed in the little pockets
of romanticized spaces
Between the artist’s mind.
Winters, then, were also the thin line between
My Smoker’s cough and your smoothest drag,
Was still inhaling it
A little wrong,
And you were still
Trying to givegivegiveitup
Nikita Parik is a poet from Calcutta, India. She holds a bachelor’s degree in English from the University of Calcutta, and is currently pursuing Masters in Linguistics from the same. Her works have appeared in The Commonline Journal, Blackmail Press, Contemporary Literary Review India (CLRI), eFiction India, A Billion Stories, Ann Arbor Review: An International Journal Of Poetry, and others.