Nilesh Mondal 

Your mother told you never kiss a man with a smile
But we've fucked our way into the next world looking for a smile.

Your touch was the warmest thing I tasted on my skin
The coldest thing I kept in my heart was your smile.

Pills and toothpaste feel the same after you've kissed my mouth
How do babies learn, without teaching them, to smile?

In winters, flowers don't grow in my garden so well
Only a pale sunflower, contemplating whether to smile.

We don't fuck on Fridays, but eat dinner together still
Your lips curled into a question mark, you've forgotten how to smile.

Our open hearts and empty wallets lie carelessly on a bed
Nilesh is just a roving fingertip, and your silent smile.


NILESH MONDAL is an undergraduate in engineering who believes in the power of expression that poetry offers, talks to himself at times, and goes through life one day at a time. He likes ghazals because they remind him of his childhood mornings spent listening to records of Begum Akhtar and Jagjit Singh that his mother fondly collected.