Loss was found

You would have thought with something missing,

things would feel lighter.

I mean, yes, I lost weight,

But I had more on my mind.

You would never have seen me leaving my house

without my headphones on.

Because I knew only music could drown out 

the wind whispering your name. 

And I didn’t want to hear it.

In every 'how have you been?' and 'how is everything going?',

I experimented with how far I could stretch my answer from reality.

I didn’t want to say my time was being taken up attending

the same funeral of us, a hundred times a day.

That I was and still was the only visitor.

I kept people at a distance, 

I didn’t want anyone too close.

Because I didn’t want people to catch

the smell of death from my clothes.

There were two of us but only one was mourning.

Each morning, I awoke in a cemetery,

trying to bury all of the 'what ifs' under the surface.

But every tear I shed watered the dead.

into full bloom and more grief resurfaced. 

So I tried sowing new seeds. I really did.

Wishing for a new garden to grow.

I would stand there weeping into my watering can.

But I realised my watering can can’t

grow miracles, though.

I thought I could gain muscle trying to bench my thoughts.

But the only thing I strengthened was my muscle memory.

I could lift ten extra kilograms at the gym much easier. 

Because nothing was heavier than my thoughts.

To lighten my load I was told to focus on myself so

I would race laps in the park every day by myself.

And I would still come second.

I was doing everything I could,

But I could never outrun my grief.

And it brought me no relief to see

The seesaw we used to play on and so perfectly balance.

I should have known you were leaving forever

because your absence nailed my side so far into the ground.

I was so low I could only look upwards.

You were so high, you didn’t look down.

Or once, when you did, you couldn’t hide your smile from the sky. 

I didn’t need to be reminded that you were doing better without me.

So I unsynced our pictures from the cloud.

But it still rained and it poured.

I stopped using umbrellas because

the rain followed me closer

than my own shadow did.

So I unfollowed joy and love on social media. 

I would scroll past happiness and delight.

I would double tap on sorrow

I would refresh but be stuck on

the same loading screen every night.

And I’m silly in that I would fall asleep

watching it load only to wake up to

“page still not found”.

You would think with something missing,

things would feel lighter.

I mean, yes, I lost weight.

But I had more on my mind.

by Kavita K. Hansla

Watch Kavita’s reading here.

As this letter of autumn leaves

As this letter of autumn leaves

I wrote this with all intention, knowing it would find you.

Consider this hand-delivered, without stamp or address. 

For here it sits in your hand, and I hope the message envelops you. 

I sense the unyielding strength of your core. Without words, 

your grooves expose the tales of a thousand wretched storms. 

Yet against all odds, you stand unwavering, even. 

And all your ambition branches far out beyond what gives you shade. 

But separate from you, are the leaves. 

And I see you are learning that leaves are as beautiful as they are temporary. 

Everything that isn't you is the seasons. 

You can love any and all of your leaves so much. 

But even your favourite leaves will come and leave with each season. 

But please know, none were meant to stay. 

And I hope it is through watching your own leaves fall. 

That the message lands, that you don't need to fall with them. 

Instead, you let them teach you how to let go. 

A tree without leaves is no less than a tree with, you know. 

And leaves fall to pave paths for new growth. 

It is only a matter of time until you sprout new leaves again. 

And you will adore and mourn them through every season. 

My wish for you is that you always remember you are the tree. 

The one thing in this life you need to keep coming back to. 

It will be the greatest thing you ever did. 

For in your search for what is constant, you have always been it. 

And like this paper derived from fibres of trees, 

this message embodies the essence of you.

So as this letter of autumn leaves, 

I hope to return you to you.

by Kavita K. Hansla

The Secret of the Ink Pot

The Secret of the Ink Pot

You dropped me into a pot of ink, with such impact 

that it spilled out all my secrets. That stained and bled

through every fresh canvas a new day would offer me. 

I left traces on everything I touched because my 

fingertips were smudged

with darkness. 

I began treading ink after hearing it try to convince my lungs,

it was harmless. 

To such depths of nothing made me realise the colour black

isn't even the darkest. 

The ink trudged along with me through every landscape

that I tried to escape to. 

My footprints would tattoo all moments of joy,

in a way that I would never choose to. 

Though, it took me a while to realise, the ink 

that once threatened to drown me 

was actually filling all of the empty space inside. 

Fortifying me and making me whole. 

Ink became the bridge I would draw 

between silence and expression. 

I learnt that living through hell is but a reminder,

that there must be a heaven. 

And ink became a badge of honour 

for the reputation you couldn't stain. 

This pot of ink was not my downfall, 

it was simply my awakening.

by Kavita K. Hansla

You're not asking for the moon

You're not asking for the moon

However the moon shows up,
it is always seen as "the moon". 
Whether it appears as whole, 
as half, 
as less than half, 
or barely at all - 
the moon is no less "the moon". 

So why, through all your phases,
do you think you're any less you?

by Kavita K. Hansla