by Samreen Chhabra

I invest in flashbulbs
like one would
in the stock market.
Unlike money
the returns I hope for
are rather tranquil.

Each bulb that lights up
the non-expanse of my room,
illuminates its own designated space
often notifying me of details too harsh.
These 25-watt-filament-inventions
make corners beam like centres;
turn a night of rest
into chandelier dinners.

I purge conversation out of myself,
What I don’t utter I swallow,
(parentheses serve no purpose)
I birth the disquiet.

Samreen Chhabra is a 22 year student from India. Her academic major (Psychology), passion for theatre and literature have all contributed to her insightful outlook of human nature and the world at large. She writes of diaspora, solitary intrigue and art in the everyday.

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