Routine

By Bhavyakirti Singh

 

joy was in holding pages marked with ink
the scent of the unused,
familiarity with ones that were caressed with
the same hands time and time over
vilely cut edges disintegrated on pads of
the fingers, for untouched by the
human skin, termites had decided to
home them.

 

a flurry of sheets in the wind
that fold and bend but fly not,
for threads bind them together
into the harmony of a plot.
by the window was kept a book,
a flag stuck on the pages half read.

 

sunlight illuminated half its being
and black ink shone, radiance of the loved
but soon dust settled on its untouched body
like leaves, the edges turned brown
there was suddenly no joy in those floating words
and seemed they just another few grams that
took space
and seasons changed one time and a half
before the abandoned were readopted
dust blown away by the wind of the mouth
glittered as it was set free,

 

it seemed joyous to see its friend
go back to where it belonged
pages yawned and stretched their shoulders
curling into the hands of those who were
ready to revalue.

 

the cup of steaming tea
re-acquainted with its
long parted companion.

 

 

Bhavyakirti is currently studying at National Law University, Jodhpur, India. She writes poetry, satirical fiction, social commentary, literature reviews and academic pieces. Her work has appeared in small press journals and local dailies in India.