A Slice of Sonnet
Go out with your fishing-net, and sit by the brook, the brook which holds a whisper of moon. Tell them that you’re going out to catch some stray salmon. Then, they won’t smell a rat.
Ensure that it isn’t the complete, full moon because you must stay away from completion of any kind. The perfect brook would be one which holds a whisper of moon – a crescent, preferably, a breath of breeze, and one-fourth of night sky, along with some stars split into two. Dip your toes into the brook, and let the crescent pierce your skin. If you bleed, the breath of breeze shall bestow upon you a temporary solace – to soften the searing ache.
Bandage the bruise with one-fourth of night sky, and decorate it with split stars, just the way you would draw on your best friend’s plaster with colored markers, when she broke her foot. Stand up and stumble home, bearing the bruise of in-completion of your being, a bruise which will soon become a scar, a scar which will be talked about, a scar which will be written about . . .
And, on the way, if a sonnet somersaults out of your soul – a slice of sonnet searching for a sentence or a phrase, sew it up with this scar.
all that makes me broken mirror
A high school student, Praniti Gulyani has been writing ever since she was a child. An avid practitioner of the Japanese short forms of poetry — haiku and haibun, and a theatre enthusiast, Praniti aspires to become a full time writer when she grows up. She loves indulging in writing which involves deep thought and emotion, and also practices letter writing. She has had her work published in many international journals – both online and print, and has published a print collection of haiku, and an ebook of haibun by Title IX Press, both of which have been reviewed by world renowned haiku poets.