By Deepali Singla
Underneath the quiet pulse of twilight skies,
there are wallflowers, seeking forgiveness
from the moonlight.
I open my hands to let my fingers
dance to the rhythm of my heart,
slowly and quickly,
whichever way the emotions
freely walk.
Ladybugs crawl in the grass,
their fierce red merges
with eternal green,
forming the yellow of the rainbow.
I remember touching yellow for the first time,
my tiny four-year-old fingers all
covered with nascent summer;
in those days,
I didn’t even know winters existed.
Time passes me by,
and the grass grows greener;
mysterious lessons like ‘nothing lasts forever,’
even if it is the grey of hatred,
often meet me on solitary mornings,
which has taught me to love myself
more than trying to find meaning in
the going people and abrupt endings.
By Deepali Singla
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