Ashish Kumar Singh

Octopus

Mother says that praying is nothing
but repeating your want until you have it
and so every morning after bath,
I kneel and ask to be heartless. I pray
but like an echo it comes back
having touched nothing, not even the feet
of some lower god. In class,
the biology teacher goes on and on
about the many hearts of octopus,
saying that everything in this body
has its own unique purpose and I wonder
what could be the use of so many hearts
when the burden of one
is more than a man can carry.
 
 

Joy In The Form Of Him

Ask me about joy and I’ll say
the last time I tasted it, I tasted it
from his palm, the salt on his skin
like an afterthought and almost sweet.
Ask me about joy and I’ll say
the last time I heard it, I heard it
from his ears, the wind just right
among the trees. Ask me about joy
and I’ll say the last time I saw it,
I saw it through his eyes,
his shadow across the white wall
as he waltzed around the room,
his torso rippling in the morning sun.
Ask me about joy and I’ll say
the last time I smelled it, I smelled it
through his nose, buried deep in my
chest. Ask me about joy, I’ll say
yes, I lived it through his life.
 


 
 

Ashish Kumar Singh (he/him) is a queer poet from India and a post graduate student of English literature. Other than writing, he reads and sleeps extensively. Previously, his works have appeared -or are forthcoming- in Chestnut Review, 14poems, Mason Jar Press, Native Skin, Tab Journal, Blue Marble Review, Tree And Stone and elsewhere.