"Between Gospel and Ganga"

I was baptized in hymns and holy wine, Yet grew where rivers sang in verses divine. My lullabies were Tagore's soft rhyme, My prayers, a blend of rhythm and time. In silks that smelt of turmeric and tea, I carried Christ and Kali within me. The cross on my neck, the conch in my chest— In both their names, I learned to rest. Then came he, from the land of rising grains, With soil on his skin and love in his veins. His voice—deep, like monsoon thunder— Stirred a longing I dared not wonder. He didn’t know Psalms, but touched like prayer, Each glance, each breath—unspoken dare. His fingers found the silence I hid, In midnight shadows, where secrets slid. He never asked which god I trust, Only kissed the corners time left dust. He read my body like sacred lore, Every sigh a verse, every gasp a door. I taught him stillness, he taught me flame, In nameless nights, we shed our names. No church nor temple heard our vows, But my skin remembers, even now. Between my Gospel and his grounded grace, We wrote a faith that time can't erase. Love—raw, forbidden, wide and deep— Where gods may tremble, but mortals sleep.