By Laxana Devaraj
The horizon slips into to an autumn auburn
like how a poet would slip into a poem –
patches of yellows still left beneath one’s eyelids
tinged in bluish nostalgia. But the colours
are delusive and playful. They are slipping away.
When it is the dark that seals an orange glow
the blue gets scattered bit by bit and the whole
world is covetous of a candle light.
If you want to disappear you have to roll with
the waves back and forth, the Ocean convinces.
Grab all your waves, all bluish whispers of memories,
get on with this prophecy. Memories will disappear
roll with the waves and come back to you as if this
is a circle of rebirth happening inside a poet’s mind.
Meanwhile reaching out with my palms I collect
days of nostalgia. And carve them into the shape
of my cravings, into sunset photographs.
Laxana Devaraj (she/her) is a law graduate living in Sri Lanka. Her poetry is published in Ice Lolly Review, boats against the current and palest blue.
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