By-Aashna Nagpal


Put yourself in that sharp piece of the mirror and attempt a smile.

Calm your face entwined with the evening- desperate for a closure.




Can you fold your half-hearted, handmade breaths into nothingness while we were here?

Do you remember the day when you had stepped on a moonflower and carried its fragrance home?

You wanted to 'unbecome' you- hating your bones more than your flesh.

Hoping they would turn to water by the morning, you kept folding your skin to see how it would look like forty years from now.

I see you falling on the moon's biggest crater, slowly, naked- with an impact of a soft kiss.


Search for that atom which was nearest to yours some billion years ago.

Where did the galaxies go from under your eyes- which had carried all your 'what-ifs'?

Did you find a second home?

Come back if you will, shake hands with the ghost of me.

You'll find me in one of those scattered pieces of mirror you had left on the moon, that is why it shines.


The ocean between us has decided to stay.

Can we talk through the waves?

I'll bring along the words stranded in the middle.

Find that part of the ocean, find that piece of the mirror.

But your reflections in the two will never be the same.

That glimpse is only a fractal of your soul.

Why is everyone certain two universes can only be parallel?

My scarred breasts holds the galaxy up.

You trace your veins through your fingers into emptiness.




Delayed truth.

Is this the right world for you?




This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon:

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