in the corner of the metro station
people whisper half-truths to each other.
bodies become shadows;
become promises no one will keep.
a man sits up in his blanket, stares at a glow in his hands,
at the only light
in a city that has forgotten him.
we speak of austen under a ten pm candle,
something moves and it doesn’t matter.
a song plays, and asks for promises,
barely heard over a seven-year-old
going about her palm sized life.
bloodlessness has hollowed us out,
everything is impossible
except in sleep
there, the non being compensates.
by Saadia Peerzada
Saadia Peerzada is a student of English at Ashoka University. Her work has appeared in Inverse Journal, Proseterity, and The Sunflower Collective.