When I woke up, I was still holding your face in my hands

The bristles of your beard scraped the skin of my palm

But you are not there.


I wish relationships were like clothes

We could soak the stains in Ala

And Surf, daag achche hai, scrub them

When they dried we could iron out the creases

And if

the shirt didn’t look as good as new

We could simply change the shirt.


My bed is slept in by me. I must try the other side.

The stains are on my fingers

The clothes flutter dry.

And when I wake up

I am sometimes still holding your face in my hands.

Vinitha, June 24, 2019