i swallow moon, funneling its drips into black, slicking my navel silver with boons. i, sediment swirling in breeze. i, anything swooned in night’s still. i am a night’s solstice, primordial soles pressing indian ground, middle loose like sanskrit, slinking. i was not born for a dream: i was born for a dark sleep, grains pulled and stringed into devanagari. i am mumbai’s boy, a moonlit pearl sitting on the victoria’s necklace, the city swinging behind me.
when i leave, i will singe in american suns.
you dream equinox
no solstices eclipsing
both in one: none clipped
YASH WADWEKAR is an Indian American writer from Phoenix, Arizona. His work has been recognized by YoungArts and the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards. On any given day, you can find him rapping along to either Kendrick Lamar, Wu-Tang, Nas, or Hamilton.