i would lie in between one’s acidic folds, my body green
in the water. my hair braided with the sphagnum
like a paranda, slippery. and my hands cuffed

in gold bangles, my jhumke buried underneath
my dupatta, until the silk dissolved with the waves
of the water – into nothingness. the sun would forget me

most days, but when it remembered, the reflection of my necklace
would slither through the ripples – my hollowing
skin changing colours – like the gradient 

of a moth’s wing. then i’d squint my eyes only to find
bleached lay’s wrappers, a pink lighter, and the yawning
wide mouth of a blue-green shopper.

daydreaming of the day a curious
archaeologist accidentally finds me, 
in a spring where smog bruises the sky, just before

a monsoon that will partially cleanse the impurities,
she’d anxiously call the police (who never
arrive.) her face would be split with shock 

after the carbon dating, as she realises she is touching
history itself, cells that divided
in a different 

earth than her own. but
many years would pass, 
and the weight of waiting

would digest my
bones, along with my
hope of being found. 

soon, I’d feel my thighs crumble and
dissolve with the drying water – slimy
weeds nuzzling my armpits. 

and one day, my darkened face would peek
out of the bog – the sun right above me –
it would be too late. 

soon enough, someone will auction
off my decapitated head – as if my
jaws could be prised apart;

as if my powdered
tongue could salivate
into water.