a quiver full of arrows

at a traffic signal

in a few fugitive minutes

timelines crossed;

locked in a gaze that

held the clock’s swing,

his stretched hand begs

(vulnerable in the asking)

for something, just anything, he believes

it is in my power to give

but i, i hesitate

(like you do)

analyse, rationalize the

inconsequential consequences

of giving him what he so plainly

asks for. 

his cauterized eyes

collect them daily

like arrows in a quiver,

the wounds from a day’s breadth –

dismissing looks,

refusing stares that pin him down

with illicit questions….

clarity crushed

weighty, unwelcome! 

that he and i are bound

unsecretly together

as we resolutely sniff

a daily fix of psychedelic truth – 

our intimate affair 

with rejection.


By Prashanti Mikayla

Prashanti has described herself as a lover of words and the art of communication since she was in the 7th standard. She believes in the unmapped power words have to transform thought, intent, action, destiny and uses her passion, experience and education to contribute to the development sector.  She blogs and employs social media extensively as the proverbial pebble, to create the ripple of change that breaks through the inertia and angst of the milieu we live in

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