See, this is when my first
pair of jhumkas were bought.
That’s where they were being kept.
By a book, by a cotton ball,
by another jhumka.
See, this is where I first
wore them and showed you.
By an unknown tree, by a tomb,
by you beside. Silver cups
under my hair.
See, I wear them, waiting—alone.
See? The angst in my eyes,
wanting you to touch them, touch
me. By soft fingertips, the
surface of your skin.
See the moon, which was ours,
now cries beside me. By your absence,
your presence. By our dubious existence.
See this is where I’ll bury my jhumkas,
tombstone telling lies about you.
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