I stifle a yawn,
The mortal rummages through the chest—
Beige, brown, blank
I am placed on a wooden stand
I lounge in my inkpot,
I hear my master’s footsteps,
Poised, elegant, immaculate!
Feather-light touch on rugged land.
5th September 1701
The room is dark but for a lamp,
It warms my soul
Until a cold drop of hell
Marrs my skin, burns my shell
A halo encircles my head,
Perched atop the world,
I shine proudly, feeling divine,
I carve out my master’s desire.
The fray goes on, I know I’ve been gone awhile,
I think about you as the days blur by.
The plumy oddity dripping death
Is bleak, black, with specks of white,
Its jarring strokes against the silent night
A soulless piece with rage so uncouth,
Dressed plainly like a sky free of stars,
Rebelling! Loving the bland blemishes.
I received your letter,
I treasure those lines.
The scars grow, chiselled on my soul,
I stare crossly at my flighty foe—
“I was hard-pressed, soaked in smouldering lime,
Yet you script my story… sublime?”
“Because I descended from heaven
And you are but a mere earthling.”
I justify with a valiant stance
But now there’s a knot in my mane, hesitance?
My love for you transcends time,
Endless like the ocean.
The human’s scrawls settle in
It would wane one day,
But in this moment treasures are bottled,
For which I cannot bear sole credit
Befuddled, I recalibrate my ideals,
Parchment’s words tell a woeful tale.
Perhaps, Beauty doesn’t correspond to perfection,
And without empty spaces, I’d suffer from dereliction.
I will be home soon, in spring.
When the flowers bloom, beloved, I will be home soon.
A flash of light, a piercing sound, imbalance sets around—
As a well of pigment crashes down.
In the blink of an eye
Written by Sriya Mistry and Deepthi Priyanka C for MTTN
Featured Image by Suprita V for MTTN