The Exile


Today thirteen years back
I dumped two suitcases on a cold floor
emptied them of their tenants
and began stacking moments
lived and imagined
sorted into images
and words

some have ceased to exist
others were sentenced
to serve time
as unknown numbers
in a mobile

some laughing spells lie trapped
under the weight
of grief-heavy ones

the moments at the top
hover just out of reach
unsure of their fate
waiting for fresher ones
to push them into dated slots

in between them an emptiness yawns
like the pink mouth of a cat
waking from a nap

The fourteenth year waits
its flyers
fresh from the printers
searching for my fingers

©Reena Prasad


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