In these profound solitudes

under mournful half-moon light

the bleed-through color of contradiction

stains my skin with silence

only I could hear

The sound of breeze stirring through open glass

Mouths gaping as winds of reality pass

cool and damp as snakeskin creeping

breathing on panes of not and now

only I could stretch

through reflections in blackened waves

pull back curtains of apprehension

to resolve the small secrets

that hold us to rituals

only I could inhale

the mist of verbena vapours

after all the candles are blown out

the sweet and invisible narrative

that carved my existence

words © malai carrara

photography © nausher banaji