I Will | A Poem | September 2020 | Ria Mishra

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.