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  • Deepti Khaira


My soul is the over-washed tie dye


slowly unwinding through its tired


It is the wick

waiting in the mauve wax, of my first


Burning most nights to the sounds of

surrounding solitude.

Held up by shelves,

overfilled with random albums and old

books, forgotten about.

Hopelessly relying on the rim of my

acrylic frames,

reassuring my limited sight of the

iridescent sky at night.

Watercolor painted with its dim clouds

and hidden stars.

Designed to be viewed vaguely by the

naked eye,

as if its visions I cannot grasp for my


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