Blue Bubble Wish Poem by Shreya Bose

I wait.
In the froth of fighting light and shade.
In the splotches where they are mingled and out of which they are again made.
Swaying upon the silver strings of the Lucretian harp
Whirling within the fragrant fumes of lying verse and scattered art
That belongs not to me.

I wait.
To be watched when I wonder upon the palm leaves shivering in the oleander breeze.
To walk barefoot on stones softened by the rush of a mountain rivulet.
To stand at the little red window and count the hollyhocks that nobody sees because of the roses.
To lie within a granite cave and listen to the waves make love to the wind.
To stand far above the ground and feel the screaming wind tear at my hair, and to feel that I am not a part of the tentacled darkness that threatens to amputate me from who I am.

I wait.
For you to rush me away to a patch of grass so tall that it hides us from the sky.
For your cannabis-clotted songs to dissolve into the madness of my straggling verse.
For my stupidity to burst into splashes of turquoise and carmine on the clouds of your canvas. For you to whisper as I swim through obscure love sonnets, that ‘we’ makes no sense, and that ‘we’ doesn’t have to.
To find you echoing in the glow of the lone streetlamp that irradiates my forget-me-nots in nightly gloss.
Just for a moment, to see the world unravel into Dali-esque freedom in your high, high eyes.


And I want the moment…to maybe linger a while longer.

I wait.
For you.

Did you ever exist? Do you now?