To the Thick Skinned One | Aditi Rajaura

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

To the thorns penetrating deeper into your skin

Anything but repellent to the oozing scars of your kith & kin;

Ohh heart throb! Have wounds ever healed without a tinge of delicate touch?

To the beating heart you say is numb

Have you ever witnessed,

Surviving at the mercy of blood, warm and ready to take the plunge?

O darling! All you ever did was lie

As your skin shone to the bright sunlit sky

The rainbow you owe the flicker of your smile to

The heart wrenching music you let your veins seep into

The seamlessly unbending values you tend to get inclined to

Aren't you the height of audacity so afraid to regard human vulnerability?

Might I not want to see the good in you

But, in the name of the love we shared as nyctophiles

Will you answer me one last time?

If it was forbidden to ache at the sound of my voice

To bleed involuntarily at the menacing high note

Carrying a glimpse of my sight

Would you have your soul coerced into doing away with my memories every day and night?

I may know what you're hesitant to say

In hopes of protecting the which is 'shattering'

Profoundly safer within 'matters of grey'

Lest a fraction of thy magnitude causes the holy breath to shake

All deception is forgiven, my love!

As foretells a promise I hereby make!

Form and Heart | Mitali Thakur

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I told her, grow from me mother

Mine will birth you a new

Mount thyself on my back….

Grip and let bleed

And sip back that,

which flows and marks your face

Do not weep for the flowing scarlet on mine..

Hold…

How will I heal ? You ask…

When every time I wake

I see you lessen…

In both form and heart.

Hold it firm I will

Lend out every hand forced to places insecure..

It is me mother, hold!

Peep! One after the other

And see…though the resemblance is inevitable, but it’s me

I’m more you…

Than even you…

Tell me

Tell me…if the gust pierces more than it should

I will fill all that inside till veins, blue.

Hold mother, hold.

I am but the native…

To the shores of your womb.

Not of those shoulders unreliable…

Hold mother, hold.

It is me, hold.

Clutch hard…

Do not worry for the blemishes developing on mine

Let us erase those first,

Chiseled in your young heart.

Mother....

It is me...

Hold.

The Moon | Vutkuru Syama Sindhuri

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

As the blanket of the splendid sky spread itself wide

you appear round and blue;

so sound and still

with haunting handsomeness

and never exhausting awesomeness.

Although stowed millions of miles away

still can feel your amazing aura all around;

Calmness of a dark night,

Brightness of a sunny morning,

Coolness of a rainy evening,

Warmness of a winter noon,

yet mysteriousness of a mighty ocean

all enclosed within you.

Clouds may tease and hide you from me,

Stars might taunt for their closeness with you

but as love conquers all,it will find its way;

it lets to climb those invincible ladders,

fly through whirling winds

and survive the inhuman space.

Dear unannounced knight of the infinite sky

reigning the unchartered territories!

the distant you are,

the desperate am;

the dreamier the desire may seem,

the deeper it grew.

Love you to the moon and back;

May be will meet you in person one day!

A Lunatic Man | Bristi Parvin

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I was in my car

I saw a man

With dirty clothes and an empty stomach

With bare feet and messy hair

With a long beard and an unclear face

He was sitting on the ground

and playing with sand

And asking pedestrians for food

People were looking at him

with disgusted eyes

And remarking, "Dirty lunatic man!"

"Maniac"

Then I noticed a blind person with a stick

He was begging for help

All of a sudden!

That lunatic man with dirty clothes, messy hair, and bare

feet

Came close to the blind person

Held his hand

Helped him to cross the road

That madman helped him!

Whom the civilized society called "crazy"

Whom the civilized society remarked " dirty"

Whom the civilized society thinks of as "untouchable"

Whom the civilized society "hates"

Whom the civilized society knows as "uncivilized".

Dowry | Keshav Bhanot

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

In the shadows of tradition's dark reign,

Lies a custom causing women pain,

Dowry, they call it, a cruel demand,

Where happiness fades like shifting sand.

A woman's worth tied to material things,

Her dreams crushed, her spirit in chains,

Innocence traded for worldly wealth,

As she's bartered away for her family's stealth.

Furniture, T.V., Fridge, Jewellery, Car, Utensils,

Are usually demanded and exchanged,

Leaving the marriage ceremony to become a trade,

Remember, a marriage ceremony is not a business deal.

In this cruel dance, she suffers the most,

Her dreams shattered like a forgotten ghost,

Her love, her care, her nurturing grace,

All diminished in this heartless chase.

But listen, dear world, and hear her plea,

A wife's love is boundless, pure, and free,

Her heart is a sanctuary, a sacred shrine,

Where love and compassion eternally entwine.

Why burden her with this painful yoke?

When she's more precious than any stroke,

Her laughter, her strength, a beacon of light,

Shining through the darkness, igniting the night.

Mental and physical torture, harassment, Domestic violence,

emotional abuse, Abetment to suicide, dowry death,

we read these terms in newspapers,

and we think that this is not our problem.

Let us break these chains, unshackle her soul,

Embrace the essence that makes her whole,

In unity, let's stand, hearts filled with love,

Respecting each other as equals above.

The dowry system's veil, let's cast it away,

Embrace equality, in love's embrace we'll stay,

For a woman's worth goes beyond all gold,

Her love is a treasure, a story yet untold.

Let’s not measure the love of a woman by the grams of gold,

Let’s not judge the beauty of a woman by her face,

Let’s break the chain of dowry and harassment,

Let’s spread love, spread happiness, and live life to the fullest.

When the night falls in our town | Gopal Dutta

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

When the night falls in our town

In winter, shrouded in her misty dark gown

Life stands still and it's so cold

And who'd brave to go out, who'd be so bold!

Snuggled in a blanket warm

And safe from winter's harm

My eyes would struggle hard to hold

With the tip of my nose so cold!

My hands would not dare to come out

'Homework' My mother would shout

From the kitchen- the only warm place in the universe

With the smell of delicious soup and the warmth of hers.

Altar of Love | Beena E.S.

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Endless

as circadian rhythm

Days dawn to resume

The clattering and rattling

of the silverware

the buzzing and whistling of the airtight pots.

Entailed is a cluster of chores tied tight.

In dampened robe drenched in pungent whiff;

Sweeping ,wiping,

Slicing, dicing, chopping.

The pinkish glassy layers peeled

Bleary-eyed and rumpled;

burdened, wearied

in smothering heat.

Myriad dreams drift away.

Million desires dissipate.

Betwixt the pain and pressure,

Unrelenting cords of love

gracious happiness inspire.

Lucky Encounter | Mehreen Zaara

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

He stepped into the metro

While I temporarily forgot how to breathe

As our eyes locked,

A smile threatened to wreathe

Be it at work, or even before going to sleep

I, now know I may have looked like a dork

But all the younger me thought was about the insanely beautiful him

I was all too glad when the next day deja vu hit me again

But he sat beside me and suddenly I had a composure to regain

It took weeks for me to finally talk

And for him to not me a discombobulated me every morning

Albeit he smiled through it all

The idea of him liking me back died aborning

Alas no one can guess what the future holds,

‘Cause even a lost case like me found myself being confessed to by a guy

The same guy who was the reason I started believing in love at first sight

I couldn’t be more than happy when 20 years later

The spoons were left with a clatter

I found myself in front of the kids with the room filled with chatter

And I ended our fascinating tale as I said,

“That’s how I met your father.”

Fear the Fear | Anusha Tiwari

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Oh! to fear the fear,

how terrible-horrible is that!

And yet, I don't feel anything but courage when I tell you that.

And so I tell you this perhaps with an obtrusive heart and a scared soul,

So, listen mindfully

For it might be what's in your heart,

confined in a cabinet waiting to be set free.

'Through our infancy, we've been told everything.

From what to eat and what to do

To what to feel and what not to.

They fill our minds with THEIR thoughts.

Who to hate, who to love

Who to be nice to, who to avoid.

What to fear and what not to!'

Yes! They have told us what is to be feared and what is not.

It is this fear that I fear.

It is the fear which I am not allowed to be frightened off!

Why? O! tell me why?

It is okay to have a fear of height

But not good to have a fear of fright.

Why? O! tell me why?

It is okay to have a scare of a lion

But to have a terror of a dog?

Oh! My friend, that's a crime for them all!

Why? O! tell me why?

We aren't allowed to fear what we truly fear?

Why being petrified of a lion is a prudent thing,

But to be scared of a dog is considered a hideous feeling.

Why are we not obliged to feel what we want to feel?

Why this world fills its sentiments into us to feel?

Why? O! tell me why?

It is an age-old custom,

To teach the child what an adult knows,

But not for once, did you all think,

That somethings are better not known!

That, it is better and perhaps even amplest,

For a child to learn something for himself.

Maybe, just maybe. If we think about it,

Not teaching children who to love and who to hate,

Letting them decide who is worthy of love.

Perhaps this will give us a doctrine that we never had!

Why? O! tell me why?

Is it you fearful adults?

Or is it people like me?

Who doesn't like change?

Why? O! tell me why?

Are you afraid of letting us perceive our feelings?

Or do you not want to spread the love?

Why do people who have fears not quite prevalent to yours

Get hatred from you and your kind?

Is it not common for people to be different?

Isn't this a free world?

Or this is just a fantasy

Where every creature has a role?

To think of this world like a fantasy,

It can't even be that.

For it has been reduced, abused too much to be a happy place!

People, beautiful people, feel horrid.

Why? O! tell me why?

Do you have to judge others from their taste?

Can't you let them feel THEIR fear?

Oh! and to those,

Who feel scared to declaim.

Let me tell you something.

'This world has been far too altered,

You can sit by in your fear for now.

But realize this one thing,

If you fear something.

Be proud of it.'

Fear is fear.

We all are allowed to feel it,

and those who think that,

to have a fright for certain things is hideous

Are the ones with frightfulness, dear!

They fear of you,

They fear that if you get comfortable with your fears,

Then nothing can hinder you!

Why? O! tell me why?

Do You not feel this fear of the fear?

Or maybe your fear for fear doesn't let you express it.

But these are my assumptions,

Wholly like this poem.

I fear the fear because I am scared to speak of my despair

And perhaps I am just a skittish cat like many,

But I really can't think of any,

Who has indicated that they fear the fear!

So, yes! I fear the fear.

And oh! how blissful I feel,

To have finally let it off my chest and into my writing spree.

But one thing will make me more content,

With that said, I think you know what I mean.

And if you don't,

Then give a read,

You shall find some questions,

Whose answers you shall seek.

Twenty Days of October | Hritvika Lakhera

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

You can tell the weather

by the feeling of tap water

running cold as the months draw on.

Seasons change s l o w l y, so

it must be something else when

about a dozen days into October

you stand in the autumn chill

and the wind has changed overnight,

smelling of wafting memories.

Autumn isn't lonely -

only liminal;

I told him once I loved him,

but loved him as a friend

and he took my bashfulness

as an erotic hint; but no,

we did not have words then

to express, "I am merely unused

to being frank thus. I do not

shy from desire but from this precipice

of confessing there are things

I care about."

November brings the frost again

but for some twenty odd days in October

the yellowed leaves, the croaking crow

entrance you in a vision;

The night breaks faster and the sun

is just a little late. The moon

is easier on the eyes. The moon

has borne witness to all your nights,

do you dare indeed

look her in the eye? I told her

I loved her - would she consider

holding my hand to her lips

and her heart to my hands?

My vices! I thought then of another

I would rather offer this love to,

and moonlight shone

upon my cowardice,

my hasty insincere heart.

For twenty day there are combinations

of light jackets and ceiling fans,

warm tea and a leg out of the quilt,

like moving homes between cities

of Summer and Winter, boxes of habits

packed, trinkets of routine s c attered.

I told them I'll love them

in time, in ways

unlike their own. Their kisses,

their gifts, their words I'll return

as the cooling water douses out

my bashfulness again. I know now

love is patient, love is kind,

love hangs back and waits for you

while you tie up your shoelaces;

love waits twenty odd days

while you bring out your coat;

love meets your eye and forgives you

for fixing yourself so slow.

Empty and Full | Varshini Krishnan

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

half blind I was

missed a ton of dull shades in people

dearest to the magenta of my pulpy heart

held onto breadcrumbs

mistaking it for a full meal

terribly lonely it was

in my own home and world

my words made no sense to their minds

their hearts were deaf to the tunes I hummed

silence became my new cloak

with those creatures of familiar blood

of distant hearts and broken bonds

I saw the fire of my soul peter out in my dark eyes

over and over

slowly at first, later all at once

draining me dry

and I saw every time, flashing in front me

all the times it happened before

and my limp numb heart

caressing what was left of me

trying to ignite it again

every time my fire was back, a little dimmer it burned

held onto it but I, with all my strength

my innards longing nothing more than to go back

to the womb I had come from

where nothing of this world could ever touch me

where I could feel safe

safe again

where even my own mother wouldn’t hurt me

years passed

as I roamed around like a lost planet

looking for my Sun

deep down wishing for an entire galaxy to look for me

to bond with hearts that beat

at the pace my tiny one purred

hearts that could see silences and hear smiles

that were different from the ones I had called home for a long time

that earned my little purrs one by one

and missed them when there were none

for once I wished

for someone to see the beauty in me

someone other than me

soon enough

as I came of age

looked around to become full and whole

in deep intimacy with another soul

but two souls, halves within

could they ever make each other feel whole?

stupid to think we could give our heart to the moon

when the Sun still lurked in alleys, dark and dull

anyway, what even was this love the world talked about?

I could only see it around me

when it was thriving inside of me

on days I was empty

no lovers were found on earth

all love was dead in hearts around me

smothered I was for so long

forgot I could breathe too

breathe on my own

breathe a full breath without life support

I had lived under the shadow of trees for long

now I wished to walk into light to see my own

with not a care in the world

like a peacock I danced in my heart

drunk with mad joy I danced

followed my breath till the last point

as I looked on, empty of all thought

the hollow within flipped

to reveal a golden path

to fullness

a pause in space and time

an emptiness unlike any I had known before

the emptiness of the mind I would try to fill

this one made me feel full

Is this the one enlightened ones have spoken of?

as I walked deeper into it

every cell in my body was bathed in sweet delight

my heart slipped

just like it did when I was a carefree kid

like in those blissful few minutes just before rains

when dark clouds hovered above

and silent winds swept streets

all birds flew away to their homes and little ones

when my eyes were blind to all but beauty around

something like that but grander by many many times

wish I could pen it down

but no words can be found

what was this emptiness that I had chanced upon?

which was all things beautiful and more

which was everything together all at once

which was

completely empty

but totally full

what was it?

Rainbow Delight | Alweera Kaji

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

The full moon reminded me of my canvas.

Not so spotless, greyish webs slowly dimming it’s white!

Fictionally I book a flight through the rainbow delight!

Crossing the hues of the blue, after the green light

I dipped my brush in yellow, painting the sunlight!

And waited, for the sunflowers to come in sight!

Foolish me, I forgot I have to paint them bright!

For my soul to retrieve, I left the gold behind,

Ate some of orange, to get my spirits to avenge !

With the tint of fall, I started turning red

But As It was all dried up by then,

I rushed my brush on my wounds,

Shading the whole room, in maroons!

“A nightmare!” I jump-scared

From the rainbow, back to greyish white!

Hoping someday with colours I’ll write

Not tonight tho, Tonight I’ll calligraph my blues

Reminding myself, Just how many portraits I’ve due!

My body as a canvas | Gaurree Verma

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

My body is a canvas

Painted by colours of my own.

You see those blue spots,

They are bruises from everytime

I let myself drown in my own tears.

You see the red skin,

That is from everytime

I've thought about losing myself and my link.

You see the black scribbles in place of a head,

That is from everytime

I've let myself get carried away,

By words of betrayal.

It has become a place,

Where light is afraid to enter

And stars are afraid to burn

Heaven on Earth | Atharv Sharma

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Farm fields and distant homes-

Oh, what a pleasure on Board!

I see golden Sun retreating shyly

From the tender swarms of mustard.

Yellow of the hue heightened

Among the white of Gulls.

Coconuts dangle and tease the guavas

While mangoes bud for springs.

Lush under calm foliage

Essays the twinkling Crimson.

Some distant merry hullabaloo

And it's inherent serenity.

Calmness in pristine solitude.

Aloof from the chaos of 'development',

From looming darks and mundane mornings,

From clamor of and for money,

From burden of luxury and pathos of ease,

From demons in humans-

This is indeed 'worth ignorance'.

Dragonflies swinging on yellow and green,

And fireflies shoving loom with sheen.

Trees stand erratically across

Like temples on streets.

Children cry playfully

In the tutelage of Moonlit doves.

The chatter of joy and tenseless gossip

And bells ringing among star fires at sunset.

Returning love, Smiling life!

Prosperous days,

Though purposeless,

Though prosperity deprived.

Hands working for stomach;

Unlike others, they are selfless.

Some modern arcs to revolutionize the scene

Hampering the surreal serendipity.

Blooming innocence, however,

Negates it.

Limping lamps shimmering negativities afar;

Luck showering from the stars.

Greenery grazing Cattle throughout the sight.

Crystal waters Reverberating ripples of scarlet gold.

Autumn striken ailing branches

Glaring; offensively resonating,

Highten the heavenly charm.

No pride or vices, orthodoxy may be.

Just some mind and heaven beholds.

Scarecrows scare what can be fooled-

The gullible kind hearts.

Rest, eat and sleep full and assured

Of a limited yet 'bright' future.

It's such simple, astonishingly: Life!

Unwavering Love: Through Seasons and Beyond | Sai Krishna Reddy

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

In sunshine's glow or shadows deep,

When moonlight wanes or stars do peep,

With winter's chill or summer's heat,

In autumn's gold or springtime's sweet,

The sea may rage or gently sway,

The land may parch or streams convey,

Through stormy days or tranquil eves,

whether skies are bright or gray,

In love's embrace, I'll find your way,

With you, my dear, come what may,

In all of life, together we'll stay.

You're the one my soul does chase.

Near or far, through distance and space.

My love for you continues to grow.

A bond that time cannot uncast.

I’m still in contact with my rapist | Shivi

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I’m still in contact with my rapist.

He’s a cousin, like many others.

I have to bend down in a namaste whenever I see him.

He’s 40, I’m 23. He works for a pharmaceutical.

He sends me medicinal soaps.

My mother asks me to WhatsApp him a

“Thank You”.

I wonder if he fills them with his cum

for they release not a lather but a stinky goo

whenever I rub them on my skin.

I use a different soap for my vagina.

The one that is used to clean ziddi daag.

He’s a father of a son wished for and a divorcee.

His mother didn’t let his wife wear salwar kameez.

His mother didn’t let his wife turn on the fan.

His wife has filed a case for dowry.

I go to my Bua’s place after every Diwali

Even though November is my favourite month.

My father owes her 2000 rupees for Bhai Dooj.

My cousin owes me 500.

Every time I race the Kumkum up his forehead,

he looks for memories in my eyes.

As if,

to confirm if he can do it again.

3 am | Tia Shrivastava

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

i think nobody needs to know how pretty i look at 3 am in the morning.

you know it is the time when my eyes light up. when the aching urgency to let it all out no longer consumes me but instead fuels my raging fire into a conflagration that devours everything it sees. sounds kind of extreme. that is me.

i don't think in parts and pieces of yesteryear and the land of tomorrows. everything i do is art. it is music and poetry screeching through the walls they built. flowing through my veins but there is no surging blood. all you can see is golden honey. loud and sweet. cacophonous and melodious and broken and brave and honey. of a golden soul.

i burn and burn and rage and scream and then silent. my ashes lie around me. the quietude is multitudes screaming out at me. calling out my name like it is the only sound that will ever matter.

and you know i am dramatic.

have you not already realized my bones are rustic from the magic of another era. do you not see that you would be insane to let me go. let me fall. madness and chaos and beauty and power live inside me. make up my core. kindness and calm and agony and melancholy reside in this body too. make up me.

so then why do you question me. how can you be so foolish.

how dare you.

do you not know i have descended from the heavens and ascended from hell. i have cried with the angels when god rained down his blows. i have worshipped the devil when he tore apart their souls. do you not witness the pulchritude that i am. i am not yours. i simply do not belong. i cannot be caged. i cannot be tamed. i am a wild thing. the wildest most gentle thing you will ever find. but you can never discover me. never hold me. i slip away like the grains of sand.

you know i think i am immortal. a pity.

i am agonizing and terrifying and satisfying and slowly dying. yet every single day i live a little bolder. hug me. tell me it will be okay even when it will not be. let me set you free. let me be your sky. the stars you hold on to. show me the scars you are afraid to uncover. i will tear apart everything that tells me i have to act a certain way. love a certain way. i am me. change is my constant. compassion is what i understand. sometimes i confuse it with being a reservoir that gives and gives and gives until it runs out. dries up like a dirty well.

you know i am one of those gemstones. they break me and my light scatters. scaffolds the earth a little more. it is a tragic joke that life likes to play with them. because they all know that i may be broken but i can never fully break. everything feels like a game. but i am okay. i wake up every day and breathe. i open my eyes to colors. i can feel. extremes.

nobody will know my mind like this. a hollow carcass turned inside out. spilling dreams and fantasies and thoughts and hopes. they are not all shattered. some of them glow. my thoughts will never end. these words can never cease. what is this inside me.

years of history etched into my skin. engraved secretly.

a dirty little secret. my most beautiful truth. nobody will ever see.

nobody needs to know how pretty i look at 3 am in the morning.

A desperate cry | Vijay Sai Radhakrishnan

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

God's creation

Blessed to be born in this world

We all may feel that's the truth

Until I read this-

An abandoned baby

Malnourished, hardly an year old

Famine struck

Skin and bone

No food to feed

No water to have

Stranded alone in barren land

Helpless eyes staring straight

Standing legs more like a bamboo stick

Cerebral neurons popping out

Veins struggling to carry weak blood

Oh God! Nothing more I can add…

My heart is not strong enough

To read the rest-

A vampire vulture

Sitting beside and

Looking eager to end its hunger!

I pray! Save these innocents!

Let this never happen again!

Sing me a song | Snigdha Saxena

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

Sing me a song

That's sweet and warm,

The kind that blue robins hum at dawn

Sing me a song

that takes me home,

To the lullaby that caressed my soul

Sing me a song

that sets me free,

from earthly woes and petty beliefs

Sing me a song

that resonates with hope

Reincarnating that withered white rose.

Sing me a song

That burns in a hearth

Devouring our dreariest, darkest thoughts.

Sing me a song

When the fireflies dance

putting the night sky in a dazzling trance.

Sing me a song

the day I learn to fly,

or make a last wish before I die.

A song is all I need,

With the twelve notes of music,

my world I weave.

Walk me home | Nayisha Chadha

THE FOLLOWING POEM WAS SELECTED IN WINGWORD POETRY PRIZE 2023 LONGLIST.

I wish we were a little bit further from the bus stop

My steps get slower, shorter

Every time I see a nice bench

I want to go and sit down

It's so exciting, you're laughing and talking

And I

I just walk the path , looking at you

We've arrived, goodbye, get home safe I'll watch you go inside, so I quickly go in

The moment I turn around, I already miss you

One evening in which I especially didn't want to say goodbye

I called you first and we stood there

I don't have anything to say

Just want to watch

The fluttering shadows of us,

Disappearing in the dark…together.