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September is not endless and yet by Anagha Smrithi

I sit by the window to eat an apple.

The small weight of it rests in my palm.

I eat slowly.

Outside, the sky is tattered tarpaulin.

It carries rain like an old secret;

dark and aching to spill.

A tart sweetness blooms over my tongue.

I eat slowly. September is not endless and yet,

I eat slowly.


I make tea and forget about it.

Summer passed us by like this;

forgotten and growing colder.

The truth is:

I have no good way of measuring time.

I have poured out all my small hours

and only the minutes remain,

slow and seeping into everything.

An aftertaste of time.


I toss out the apple-core.

Already, it is decaying.


September is not endless and yet,

there is nothing more to do now

but lay down and wait for rain.


Anagha Smrithi is a 23 year old writer based in Bangalore, India. She has been published

by Delhi Slam and the LiveWire, and received a commendable mention in the 2019 Wingword poetry competition. Her writing deals with the body and the politics of everyday spaces. She hopes to add to the growing contemporary poetic feminist voices in India.


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