A rope

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It is easier to associate
him with objects with no breath;

sans words,
sans emotions,
sans remembering,
than with flesh.

I, tied around,
tied inside,
tied with
a rope;
a red rope of love.

A rope whose arms,
neither of them,
are held in his arms.
Rather, in the clasp of
memories.

The red of the rope
brushes and rubs around
my arms,
choking them
red
whenever his
memories pull on me.

Now, there is an
indentation
in red script,
not in his shape,
but on the shape of
aftermath.

-Taru Gupta


This is the fourth work for the project ‘What’s in a name’ which celebrates the presence of poetry in our daily objects. This one is about being captive in a forgone relationship as if tied by memories of it. Those tight knots only seem to strengthen whenever I try to move away, creating red marks on my skin and patterns, figuratively. I am trying to convey how holding on to someone for too long can turn into self-abuse, like the ropes on my arm that would obviously give me pain, hence giving the red marks and pattern.

If you like this concept, please like, share, comment and follow. I appreciate any type of feedback or thoughts in my comment section, or you can slide in my Instagram DM’s to discuss them with me.

Love,
Taru.

Creative Commons License
A rope by Taru Gupta is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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