I will live in the in-between land

where the far-off murmurs of the crowd give me company while I tell stories to myself.


I will build a hut in the fringes of fraternities and forests, where I’ll plant a garden for the deer and demons.


I will write poetry from treetops for the life of the wild and the tamed, full of truths about all the metaphors at last.

I will drink from the lakes of the forgotten dams, the concrete giving way to the wet clay of time.


I will wait for the dusk from the roofs of dilapidation. And I’ll paint the dawn from the peaks of stale volcanoes.


I will tell tales of destitution to my friend, oblivious while sipping tea made of her leaves with a pinch of cinnamon.


I will read myself that story, the one where the heroine dies, like they all do

and I’ll go to sleep in the bed I made of half-dreamed heavens.


I will live in the in-between land

where I’ll finally make friends with my own shadow.


And maybe with my black blood too.

…now that you’re here

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Ria and her love affair with reading
Ria Mishra

Appreciating good poetry is an art, just like writing it is. To check out more poetic gems by Ria, make sure to follow her on Instagram.