All The Things I've Learnt From A Shooting Star

Written by Praniti Gulyani

to emerge from bits of night
that wrap themselves around breaths of cloud
to glaze bedroom windows, and fill in light
in the ambiguous shape of a lingering wish
to touch outstretched fingers – slowly, cautiously
and settle in the centre of palms
lending only a speck of light – deliberately, comfortably
to fold myself between pages, that hold
unsteady, uncertain, unknown poetry
and despite knowing, that poetry is uncertain
to still cling onto every word
to rise, and tower over those watching me
to fall and drop like dew on velvety leaves
and when I fall, to see if those who watched me when I rose
are still watching
to mount bits of yellowing breeze
the residue of summer, sewn into the sky
and linger outside a soldier’s barrack
pressing my being against a widow
that bears footprints of teardrops, that are yet to be shed
by the white, cloud-crusted eyelids
of the sky
to weave in and out –
of a mother’s prayer, to punctuate
a song, sung in a slow, scratchy voice
to be talked about, and written on
and maybe, if I am lucky, to be argued about
to be looked at, to be wished on
but, most importantly
to be wished for

Praniti Gulyani is a seventeen year old from India. On The Elysian Muse, she has contributed her works: "My First Day of School", "All the Things I've Learnt From a Shooting Star", and "Ernie Westernwille".