My voice has Dreamt
Of a meld with the wind
-a whispering of acid
through softly gyrating
ivy fettered currents-
Melting my Pati
Like butter spilling
From burning chocolate.
A nothing and everything
Festering in those bottles
That exhaled into balloons
Which collapsed
Weighted
By Youth Bound mesmer
And straws that bent,
Shuttered airways
Before the catharsis
Metamorphosed from Lines
To Chaos.
“You’ll look like Mickey”
She murmured
As she lowered
Ill-fitting ears
From a war interred
And a filter
Too wide, smoke-tinged,
Crystal reflecting eyes
Absorbing
The second haze.
Words began to flake
-ash from a dying, tube bound leaf-
As green-tinged clouds
Swarmed and caressed
bright black ears.
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*pati- the Greek root of passion, to suffer or endure.
Zahraa’ Raadhiya Khaki is an artist and poet who currently daydreams about her next cup of tea, waxes lyrical about any feline insight, and occasionally recalls that she’s currently in the midst of completing her psychology and literature degree. She tries her best to live in accordance with her nature as prescribed by Xeno, but can never quite settle on one particular Form. As such, she’s as much at odds with herself as she is with near everyone else.