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

Writer

I am a writer who views the world through the lens of storytelling, a practice I explore formally as an English Literature student. I have an insatiable curiosity for new genres, artworks, and ideas. As a writer of poetry and short stories, I gravitate toward poetic lyricism, though I’ll happily indulge in a catchy beat with gloriously brainrot lyrics when the mood strikes. My creative and academic passions are deeply intertwined, revolving around queer theory, gender studies, existentialism, and gothic horror, romanticism, and tragedy (basically anything that echoes Edgar Allan Poe or Shakespeare).