Self portrait as ocean bed

by S. Rupsha Mitra

I am afraid of such nights, 
dimming skies
Burrowing as an open wound, 
I never know how this happens, transforming the self – mud soaked, 
Tainted, stained with green beads, sea plants, fists of grassy shards 
of time hollowed in the belly of an  ocean.

I lie, drowned and flattened in the spread, 
water above,
 a deep longing beneath battering the senses into surrendering,
There is life, there is an unknown darkness brushing by 
as strokes of ravaged remembrances, 

I am refaced again,
 I know nothing other than
  the shelled pearls, schools of mustard fish, 
a wavering mass of wondrous creatures wandering, 

All in the galloping waves,
I remain, 
bruising and healing, stilling and parting, as the shattered crystal pieces of ruined love.

© Copyright  S. Rupsha Mitra

S. Rupsha Mitra from India loves to experiment with poetry and translations. Her microchap Dandelion Skin has been recently published by Origami Poems . Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Mekong Review, Muse India and North Dakota Quarterly.

Read the Rest of the August Issue

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