Growing in me

Believe, you’re still growing in me.
Mind weaves images even if
the curtain is lowered.

Believe, your touch is still palpable.
Much like a tree you grow, your meristems
spread apically. Laterally.

I have closed all shutters still an evil light
trickles in. The air inside smells of monsoon
and I feel tingling sensations roused by
deadpan promises.

You ask, being ‘out-of-sight’ even fades
a mountain. But can a fog erase
weighty memories?

Come. Don’t be at a loss for words. One part
of the world has to hide in dark to enlighten
the other.

Believe, the tree will wither on its own,
the poison that is making it thrive will lose
its sting; the aftertaste won’t linger
beyond a lifetime.