A poem by Armaan Verma

Deep breaths released themselves
In wisps, and then pillars of smoke,
Hands shook, balled themselves up
Into fists ready to choke
A lovebird in flurries of grey.
The sky would smother me soon
And cigarette smoke blew the clouds
That held back waters minutes away
And a boat will be waiting when
All is lost—the wind blows to spite me.
It’s amusing the small things eyes notice
When they know the danger of looking.

I could still feel the cool, fuzzy embrace,
Count every cloud that sailed away,
I asked, I begged, don’t let it rain
Please, don’t let it fucking rain,
Clouds lingered on my cheek
But then the wind forgot us
And my hands, smoking
Like a gun barrel, were
Itching to just touch
The ghost you let
Loose from your
Lips, the final
Word that I
Am forced
To hear

Armaan Verma
Armaan Verma

Armaan Verma is Junior Editor at ALMA MAG. He is the author of Glorious Greeks: Meet the Gods and Undoing of the Thieving King.