By Sujatha Menon
I swam in a dress made from algae and gold,
trailed a veil spun from sunlight
grief tied a bow around my waist
and shed a long song in my hair
when bright tendrils fanned across the lake
all who breathed agreed
it was like a melody.
In the days that followed
me into the shadows
I rose and fell on the back
of a blue humped dream
and all the while
the moon hung its smile
crookedly
such was the fate of sleeping lilies
that would never regild or speak
again of this world:
petal to petal
dusk till dusk.