The first pulse, in the midst of a whipping maelstrom, 
lingering beneath the heart of nestling honeysuckle rosaries, 
spouts through a rare rain in autumn–eating away the slow nudges at dusk,
leaving behind soft footprints of longing. 
You let down the pleats of your mulberry saree 
from your cosmic, Stygian palanquin,
eyes inquisitive, adorned in coal
you tiptoe into the tending sun-scape
in search of me, in search of home.
I find you in your resembling sheath–delicate against the barbarities
of our bodies–uncannily devouring the pits of my ribs; 
your deity flesh juts out–a bleeding scar, 
something has touched you, but you devoured them black.
You, an unyielding mother with arms, 
impossible to sever, you swallow the fatal earth. 
I remember the tenderness you spared me that night– 
you hushed my frail, failing heart, 
and I gave you myself completely whole
feeling nothing but animal,
as you held me tight against your fight-wounds 
like a jaguar to its cub,
our arms chaining like a knife and sleeve.  
I war to root out myself in pieces,
each morsel a folding kernel of bleed, and you say
Hey, do you still feel lonely?
What do you need 
What do you keep
I would know you in touch, in space,
in fear and in the blindness of the cold; 
please hold me like a child,
I'm arming by your knees, please hold me
before I turn to stone. 
In my darkness, I almost coil into nothing,
into the gyre's night, into the vertical
marring like a mirror in your locking gaze,
sad like the fade of a memory in the ocean
you haul me out–a pearl from a pod;
And like a sea siren, a voice sings out
I am within you, I sting the same.
In my lonesome shroud of rain, 
I christen each hurt, I kiss them sweet, 
Inch by inch I shred my aloneness,
one by one I let go of my dreams. 
This garment of scabbing need that wants to belong somewhere,
hangs loose from the crawl of your nest as dawn breaks open,
you hand me a moonflower to womb,
Burn until your hair eats itself, my beloved,
Rage until these petals take bloom; and don't you forget
in your sunless days, that you war like a Devi too.

Snata Basu is a writer based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her poetry has appeared on numerous literary platforms including The Opiate, Visual Verse: An Online Anthology of Art and Words, and Small World City.