White canvases in the noon
Hanging from the cloth-lines
A peg in her lips, pegs in my little palms
Spot a floral-print petticoat
Follow it around
Long black hair, streaks of red
Glowing purple in the evening sun
Blowing in the wind
Stroking a dandelion
Holding on for dear life
Red scars, purple bruises
Wet tears, funny tasting
Pain-stricken, I lay in bed
Dreams find me, when I am awake
A blanket spread over my head
Years fade out of existence
A bad dream, into the white void
Slowly wake up to find
An empty cloth-line
No pegs in my hands
Naked dandelion buds
Dead wind, still air
No sun, no flower scented hair
The only remnant of us
Are dark blue scars
I hear a hymn in the distance
Through a broken windowpane
So tell me now, again
Where did we go wrong, Ma,
If our story never began?
Copyright Delilah Das
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