I must smell of him
Molecules of his, stuck in between mine
In empty spaces
Trapped odour, irreversible love
He's my envelope,
Like my stratosphere
All around me,
Sometimes you couldn't tell us apart
Entwined lovers

When my nostrils graze from
Chin downwards
Via the throat, his neck
They collect souvenirs.
Memories to be saved forever
No matter how we end up.

Enroute they collect bubbles of his odour.
Aftershave, sweat, flesh, skin, soap
Love, estrangement,
Fear and frustration
My nostrils cage a bit of his spirit
And save it in my lungs

When it gets dark,
That smell seeps into my blood
And oozes out of my skin

I must smell of him. 


Anonymous said...

It's beautiful! :)

CRD said...

intense and passionate!

usha Ramani said...


Surya Prakash V said...

Does adherence to physics and biology kill art?

Surya Prakash V said...

The mind fed on memory to create an alternate reality; one which was very real as it was unreal.

The mind fed on mind to create more mind and make one more blind. The unblinking eyes were lost to the horizon. The horizons laughed at me; into the nakedness of nature I walked clothed and safe.


wildflower said...

@ V
No, I think it doesn't. Art includes all the science.

Surya Prakash V said...


Akanksha Jain said...

Profound!! captivating lines indeed