Poetry

handprints on the unpartitioned map of india

Uzayer Masud

23 Jul 2023 — 1 min read

your eyes are black
deep like the caves of Lascaux
i put my palm against yours
fingers too, soon intertwined

trace the shapes in my mind, outlines
drawing chickens, or a duck
like children on paper
glue on googly eyes for added effect
crayons melting onto it, unto us
our handprints on cave walls
16,000 years ago

your face is a mirror, i stare into it
my hand against yours is
the intrinsic act of self discovery
but do you believe me?
of course you do, why wouldn't you?

when i ask you to close your eyes
do you see the face of god within me?
in the drawn out lines of your hand
the creases accommodate a thousand years of history

do you see it like i do?
the hazy tendrils of an afternoon in bengal
the calmness of a moment within leaves
swayeth gracefully; an elephantesque grandeur

your skin feels familiar
your mind a testament, to
the unpartitioned map of india

do you feel the winter creep in?
when mornings smell like cha
and the evenings are wrapped in shawls
when the dust hits sharp as nicotine

one of these mornings,
when everyone else is gone, and you are too
i will miss this
when the silence of death is the only ringing in my ears
i cannot fathom
i hope the noise starts to make sense

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the summer (2021) i learned what gold means

the etymology of love

Nazrul's Immaculate Rizz - My Experience with Bangla and Internet Culture

of wanting to go home