Sehnsucht, Diaspora, or Whatever This Is

‎A few summers have since passed

A few too many, or a few too little –

How does it matter?

‎

I shall grow as I shall wither.

I shall forget as I shall remember

your face — it turns to a stranger.

I shall hold you as you once held me cradled,

and say goodbye over and over.

‎

I shall proclaim these treacherous waters

easier to breathe than suffocating borders.

And so, I shall smell no more mogra flowers

nor listen for the koyal's hollers.

Especially the scent of my grandmother's shawl –

I shan't recall. I shan't recall.

‎

A few summers have since passed

My blood turned strange — your flesh a stranger

I smile, I frown, I laugh –

But how does it matter?

Written by

Ravgun Kaur

Writer

I believe in the simple brilliance of philosophical rambling, and how a single thought can lead to completely unexpected territory. I tend to start writing about one thing and end up sharing deeper thoughts on something else entirely — unexpected, and hopefully worthwhile. I want to delve deeper into everyday things — literature, music, life in general — and share whatever I find along the way. Sometimes you'll find me writing experimental poetry, or short stories, too.