The space between silence – Anirban Dam

 

Never turn your back while exiting a temple,

it brings bad luck. Almost a decade later

these words have resurfaced again

(mothers usually tend to show up unannounced)

 

only this time you are willing to explore

the undertones in that statement.

 

Back then, your understanding of the word back

was constricted. A patch of skin evenly spread

between nape and tailbone, partially visible without a mirror.

 

You didn’t know about organ systems —

the inversely proportional relationship between eyes and feet.

 

How each receding footstep shrinks a landscape

to fit your perspective.

 

The horizon gradually reduced to a hyphen, the skyline

compressed to resemble the cuts on your door key.

 

How fickle is this estrangement,

which grows with each receding footstep, how uncertain

the distance which occupies this ever-increasing space.

 

This is how grief operates.

It tricks you into turning your back

 

and instantly all this blur around you sharpens itself into focus,

every single strand of noise slowly evaporates.

 

All that is left behind is a sound

desperately trying to find its voice.

 

Silence couldn’t possibly be more inarticulate.

 

 

 

Anirban Dam is a twenty-something parasite who thrives on guilt-free sarcasm and gluten-free poetry. His physical form was last spotted in Bombay.

 

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