They rise in wafts of dust, ripples of wind,
Twirling round and round under thunderclouds
And then settle, suddenly. It is time.
Steps drenched in earthy scent,
Run across soft dirt, lovingly cradling
Drops of starlight.
Lightning crosses swords with shadow
Pasting silken webs on dancing toes
Until colours merge and you submerge.
There is a lilt in the way they sing
Gentle, like a lyre’s chords
Walking in thoughtful sync.
Anklets chortle at one, two, three turn
Lift, step, one, two, three; in an afternoon class
Drowsy words drown sleep in drifting waves.
They titter, giggling-wiggling as the wind,
Sticks seeds on dirty chappals
That crinkle as they rush.
Carelessly climbing flying staircases
Throwing the door open and breathing the night
Luminous with lamps trapped in a far off land.
They rest by the pond
Skim its surface to choose the best place to dip and slide,
And once underwater, use a lens too blurred by rainbows.
Lights off, they hang from the bed,
And bounce against the cold stone floor
The otherworldly lamps flicker from the window, promising a world unseen.
Written by Tript Kaur
English, Second Year
Photograph by Hitashi Arora