the fault

this yellow is shredding 

its sunlit shine and stones,

this time is shrinking 

its ability to digest formality,

this liquor is sparkling 

its distress in the light of grief,

this circus is sprinkling 

its weight of irrelevant sphere, 

the god is blessing chemicals 

on my tiny pores of dull skin,

the god is sitting on your 

eye lashes to taste the salt,

the god is obsessed with the 

blood of lips when you bite so hard,

i think, the god is falling out of 

the story he had begun to write,

never mind, my words are still 

lighter than your aching heart,

your moons and magnitudes are

stumbling over my last energies,

let the god take the test of 

our theism till time wants,

let the god check the steer 

of my pores and your blood,

but the fault lies 

in the grace of torture 

this trembled truth carries,

in the delicacy of statue 

this physical heat adored 

us when we didn't ask for it,

where does the fault lie?

i'm sure, not in my elegiac eyes,

not in your honest hope,

not in our withered wisdom,

so, where does the fault lie?

- chetna 🌻