Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Gagan Gill

She Will Come Back In Her Body

She will desire him like sin
She will desire him like virtue
In some unknown place
In an unknown room
She will make love to him in her thoughts

As though, uninvited,
for no reason, she has gone there
walking in her sleep
As though for centuries she’s been sitting
At that place within herself
Where nightmares lie in wait
For desires to go mad

She will desire him
Like a kind of dream
That, only with open eyes
She has always seen
As though he were a shoulder
For some barren cry

As though loving were a curse
Were an endless wailing
Or an incoherent monologue
She will desire him

As though he
Were some incurable disease
As though he were
Something to be lifted
Like a sorcerer’s curse

She will desire him
Like Sin
Like virtue
And come back in her body

Like a hidden wound.

SHE WILL COME BACK IN HER BODY

Close

She Will Come Back In Her Body

She will desire him like sin
She will desire him like virtue
In some unknown place
In an unknown room
She will make love to him in her thoughts

As though, uninvited,
for no reason, she has gone there
walking in her sleep
As though for centuries she’s been sitting
At that place within herself
Where nightmares lie in wait
For desires to go mad

She will desire him
Like a kind of dream
That, only with open eyes
She has always seen
As though he were a shoulder
For some barren cry

As though loving were a curse
Were an endless wailing
Or an incoherent monologue
She will desire him

As though he
Were some incurable disease
As though he were
Something to be lifted
Like a sorcerer’s curse

She will desire him
Like Sin
Like virtue
And come back in her body

Like a hidden wound.

She Will Come Back In Her Body

She will desire him like sin
She will desire him like virtue
In some unknown place
In an unknown room
She will make love to him in her thoughts

As though, uninvited,
for no reason, she has gone there
walking in her sleep
As though for centuries she’s been sitting
At that place within herself
Where nightmares lie in wait
For desires to go mad

She will desire him
Like a kind of dream
That, only with open eyes
She has always seen
As though he were a shoulder
For some barren cry

As though loving were a curse
Were an endless wailing
Or an incoherent monologue
She will desire him

As though he
Were some incurable disease
As though he were
Something to be lifted
Like a sorcerer’s curse

She will desire him
Like Sin
Like virtue
And come back in her body

Like a hidden wound.
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Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
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