Sunflowers

by September 6, 2022 0 comments

(After a visit to cafe Lazy Suzy, Bangalore)

The walls of this cafe are painted
yellow, and there is hot chocolate
in china snuggled in our palms.
Colors must have something to do
with memory, because the yellow
of these walls reminds me of
the yellow Chumbak top I’d bought
earlier today, which had cost me
more than its worth, really. Just
last week we had yellow flowers
in our hair, me and my sister,
and we had clicked a lot of pictures.
The flowers lay forgotten thereafter.
I had told you of my sunflower
obsession one autumn, shared
a picture of the painting I’d made
with so much love. We’d both agreed
on just how bad it was. The walls, yes,
the walls of this cafe are painted
yellow, and there is hot chocolate
in china snuggled in our palms.
You see the yellow of longing
in my eyes, and you say those
three words, measured and exact,

‘Please Move On’

editors note:

Color us caught by so many seeds to savor. (This poem is one of the many you can read in Nikita’s new collection, My City is a Murder of Crows. Congratulations to her! You can get your copy here.) – mh clay

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