My phone scoffs like Amma, Blinks twice disbelievingly- Are you planning to let go? You've aged 3 years, It's a blurred one

The prompt is inspired by Ilya Kaminsky's Poem 'We lived happily during the War' The women in my family are without a home by Pritha Jain the women in my family are disgraced artists weeping into the after-hours but never once repenting their crimes enough. a haloed moon drools and watches in waning silence as their vermillion digs a sharpened claw into the fault lines of their foreheads. curses rot at the peripheries of dadi's face as she spits them back at her husband durin

Song of sapphic orange juice by Aadrit Banerjee citrus blues on soft carpels, a tapestry of fibres weaved on them, lemon smell bringing memories of a hundred winter tales of grandmothers sewing, and shelling oranges, and afternoons of tangy flavored- kisses, peeled skin scattered over green grass, so red inside, winter sunlight playing on nude bodies tangled over graveyards, and half-eaten oranges over Jamali-Kamali's tomb, shaped like smiles of female hysteria, hidden under