There Are Winds

Meditations on Absence and Memory

Invitation

Often I think, I’ll invite you in 
my arms saying come. Come I 
was told is the most helpless
verb of language. The art of 
loving coincides on an unknown 
plane with obedience. Now, when 
I say desire, it’s a self-knowing
I fear getting closer. The poppy 
blooms quietly through spring 
but every time forgets to unlatch 
the fragrance. I remember inhaling 
it repeatedly as a child. Now I have  
understood the phenomenon. After 
I leave, people forget me with a steady 
ease. You, too, shall after you finish the poem.

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About The Poet

Purbasha Roy is a writer from Jharkhand, India. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Iron Horse Literary Review, Notch Review, Reckoning Mag, The Margins as of late. Best of the Net Nominee. Attained second position in the 8th Singapore Poetry Contest.

Find her on:
X@Purbasha
Substack

Read On

Drawn in by "Invitation"? There's more to explore. In four additional poems, Purbasha weaves a haunting tapestry of memory, longing, and quiet observation. From empty staircases to children's faces, from dream interrogations to swirling leaves, this collection maps the spaces between what we seek and what we find.

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