Where I Unravel
All day
I wear my wisdom
like a carefully pleated sari,
my silences stacked
like glass bangles—
bright, fragile,
held together by habit.
By evening,
at your threshold,
I slip them off.
You remain—
quiet as white paper,
warm as sun-washed cotton,
letting my words
leave their colours upon you.
No scales here,
no ledger of giving and taking.
Only a window left open,
blue dusk drifting in,
the faint scent of rain—
and me,
finally breathing
without holding myself together.
