The Parchment and The Quill—A Letter to The Lover

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.


Standing oblique

The plumy oddity dripping death

Is bleak, black, with specks of white,

Its jarring strokes against the silent night


Lay impecunious

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

Torn away


Eternally     yours


Written by Sriya Mistry and Deepthi Priyanka C for MTTN

Featured Image by Suprita V for MTTN

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