Words come
when the winds come
and trace their fingertips
up and down your skin
when the spell of dry
gets quenched by the gulp of your tap water
when words form and dont say a thing
but those feelings spun by the heart etch themselves in writing
amid the desolate desert of life
where no flowers thrive
where there’s no rain
but the sun and the night, and then the sun
in this cycle, you come in and make a phone call
reload the gun
unleash the cascade of flooded waters
pierce the skin with thorns
and then the night comes
and then the next day
traveling through this unknown; time
both of us lost
Samasya Tapasya 