There’s a thread on her wrist,
red like pomegranate seeds bursting—
three knots tight as a mother’s secret,
three wishes pressed between breaths
when the world looks away.
She whispers into the glitches—
the way the sky skips like a scratched vinyl,
the way the ground hums
just before the fall.

She doesn’t blink anymore.
It’s all there,
in the corner of your mouth,
in the pauses where words drown themselves.
She hears the notes you never played,
sees the shadow in the mirror’s gasp,
speaks to the silence like a sister.

The bracelet taught her the language of sap
and stone and the ocean’s bite.
It sings in loops, an ancient chorus—
not yours, not mine,
but something older than the first mistake.

Three knots, she says,
for the door that never stays shut,
for the stars stitched into her palms,
for the moments where time hiccups and forgets itself.

And when she speaks,
it’s not a voice—it’s a frequency,
a vibration you feel in your ribs
like a forgotten childhood song.
She turns her wrist—
the red thread catches the light—
and the world unravels for her,
one gift, one glitch, one truth at a time.

Sometimes, I'd think that I missed it.
All the late-night conversations,
good morning "I love you"s,
glances exchanged in the halls,
awkward smiles,
adorable nicknames,
that bracelet.

But I don't wear that bracelet anymore,
not since you starting doubting all we had.

When the good morning texts were just typed,
sitting there with the send button unpressed.
When we started avoiding each other in the halls
because we couldn't bear to see the other's face.
When those awkward smiles we'd exchange
turned into just plain awkward.
When the adorable nicknames went away.
When that bracelet just sat there,
on my dresser instead of my wrist.

Sometimes, I thought I missed the way we were.
But now I know, we're better off the way we are.

My mother didn't birth me, she said.
'I plucked you from a tree, 
a Papaya tree',  she says.

'It rained torrents that Chait* night,
a storm raged, tearing apart 
all that came its way
our hut was blown, everything swept away
the tree shuddered, so did the fruits
I spent the night clinging to the scarred trunk
worried about our next meal, 
a wild gale, then, bent the Papaya tree 
I latched on to you while your siblings 
fell apart. Bursting seedlings over my body. 
With all my strength, I plucked you
the stem and branches bruised my hands and arms
streaks of blood trickled and covered your face
you had a tender, pale skin. 

Can you feel the scar on your forehead ? 
That's where my silver bracelet was lodged. 
You weren't ripe, not yet. 

Next morning, still trembling, I hid you 
in the warmth of the last cloth on my body, thereon
you slept in my ***** till
the first rain of Baisakh**.

Your father, she said, 
'had gone seeding the fields'.
She said, 'You are the fruit of my labour.'

I gave you my heart
And in return you gave me nothing,
I opened all my windows and doors
But you kept all yours shut,
I tried so hard to make you laugh
But the most you could manage was a smile,
I bought you gifts
And you gave me a bracelet.

A token of the love you never show,
A reason for me to keep trying,
A way to feel the relief,
A bracelet.

No emotion,
No charisma.
But a bracelet.

A little, shiny, sterling silver bracelet.
No charms and no colour.

Just a bracelet.

and so I shatter.
my own absorber of maladies
remover of toxins; the internal kind
my Ambergis protection
my broken bracelet.

I'll collect the beads
but you will never be rebuilt.

*so i don't really see the point

When the bracelets that you wear become
symbolic of who you love,
and I wore two while you had none.
Would it matter how these bracelets looked?
If it does:
One was pink, it bore the symbol of Christianity
I had been asked many times if it was
but all it proved was my unconditional sinless love
for you
the other was striped, red and white
while everyone told me it "was so much like me"
I wore it because it "was so much like you"
and by now we had melted into each other.

I suppose we started falling apart when they did,
the first I lost yesterday.

Our bracelets don't match
Made by different friends and me
Thanks for accepting.