the sun was me

mice - billie marten

i write little about my months in Kolkata 

i do not care to remember 

the dampness, the heat, their cruelty 

but often, the sun was me

i had time leftover in Kolkata 

i sang often, i wrote incessantly 

the girls avoided me like the plague

but often, the sun was me

i broke all my bones in Kolkata

and the marrow dried out

like leaves falling, drying up, browning 

and often, the sun was me 

i sat alone in a dark theatre in Kolkata 

solitude is cruel when love is in the marrow

but the marrow dries out and dies 

and still, the sun was me