i remember her eyes closed. a bangled arm

on the sai satcharitra like a bundle of thread

unraveling on water. somebody must've turned

the TV on. she always described it to the doctor

in two ways: either as a tree with gnarled roots

or as white noise. the TV bruised black to blue

and turned on her closed eyes. she oared past

the swarm of rippled noise with nothing but

the dots and beached on the landing page

selling tupperware, mixer blenders, and toycars.

in her faith she ties a charadu around my wrist

like a doha. i slit it with a line break

~ ajay

30/9/2024

first published in poems india