A Love Letter to Spring

I was dutifully tending to my plants as if it were a delicate ballet of watering in the choreography of nurturing. I had forgotten the art of pruning and fertilizing them. I'd moved them from the living room to the brightest afternoon spot in my window (sadly, I moved my indoor plants to my window and my peace lily is was suicidal). On a Monday morning in February steeped in weariness, I noticed a slender stem emerging from the heart of the spider plant. At first, I dismissed it as an impromptu guest in my green sanctuary, born out of some seeds my mother might have just dumped in my planters.

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At times, she looks at him as if

he is a pastiche of galaxies.

Cold—oh! so cold—on the surface,

constantly undergoing a shift.

His eyes hold clusters of stars,

catastrophically beautiful, made

with all these colours she cannot spell.

Celestial Lovers

Written in 2018.


Such bright lights rest
within these stars; will
his eyes ever contain all
the radiance? His frenzied

fingers run through

her curious hair.

How did he find the

sunlight-condensed

dark hues melted
in her locks? She unlocked
the doors of her mind
in silence. He drifted in,