you pass by an old tree,
an orb dislocates,
the treasure of time has folded
and joined hands with loss.
no part is left to mourn in the sun of this madness;
you look up and the root takes you by the shoulders,
god is frozen in the lip of a fruit
the tail of a leaf,
malignant in the freeze is your terrible tragedy;
you don't love anymore.
you are frightened, 
your fear is slow.
in the years of your becoming of you,
nothing outlives the memory of what has been.
you don't recognise yourself,
everything is lost like a fish in Lethean space.
you have mistaken truth for love again
and given yourself up forever.

Snata Basu is a writer based in Dhaka, Bangladesh. Her poetry has appeared on numerous literary platforms including The Opiate, Visual Verse: An Online Anthology of Art and Words, and Small World City.