The earth hums late at night. You feel her
uneven sounds rise through your spine.
The lone string of an ektara moves under
her finger – a horizon vibrating, sky spilling
into charcoal ocean. Is it the light that takes
the music out of our ordinary days? In the
dark, love becomes truth. Of what use is
certainty that does not have your lips? Aren’t
the patterns of stars made by intervening
shadows. See, ambiguity is the prerogative
of the broken heart. I want to sing with words
I have never heard. I want to remember
things that never happened. Let me steal
a silver melody from the devious moon.
Tomorrow, I promise to lie about this moment.
A poem for Susan’s prompt at PU – “Authenticity”.