I fall in love with impressions,
Fingertips on fickle flesh
In a shroud I sit
As these wisps rise
In a tantalising spiral

Smoke encircles the crevices
In my palms and in my fingers,
Then dances into my nostrils
And I am choking
Retching up blood

I cannot keep breathing much longer,
Coating my heart in tar

little drops of goodbyes
lingering at the doorstep of my consciousness
unwilling still, vacillating
in denial they wait
with some empty expectation
that they will be invited back in

but sand once fallen through this hourglass
is never the same sand again
something of it is lost
something of it is gone
and its taken some of me along

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   28.12.2012
  Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish