Softly We fall

By Megan Dhakshini

"Softly We Fall" by Megan Dhakshini is a collection of poetry that delves into the emotional aftermath of heartbreak. The book is a journey through feelings of helplessness, loneliness, obsession, and grief, all magnified in minute detail. It resonates with the experience of losing, letting go, and laying to rest an impossible love. The title, "Softly We Fall," reflects the theme of falling, which is prevalent throughout the poems. The book was longlisted for the Gratiaen Prize in 2021 and has received positive feedback from readers and writers alike.

Excerpt: Softly We fall

Raw hunger meets tender vulnerability, each poem's jagged edge softened by desire, lament, and the search for meaning in stolen moments.

By Megan Dhakshini

It is your thrust that shakes me; Your arrogant command
of our breath our flesh
our luscious hunger.

A rhythmic tearing apart of
rules
and reservations a
throbbing theatrical
tidal wave.

2. Parasite

You have given of yourself,
unwillingly.
Tomorrow, I will still thirst for
more.

My fingers are numb now;
from holding tight to
my heart
and yours.

I did not feel them fall.

4. Beast

Wolf,

I no longer hear you howl gnarl pant tear growl
sniff

wild with hunger carnal
crude crass your breath
bloodied,

your flesh seeking flesh,
your teeth gripping
less

than will satiate you;
Beast,
on the prowl,
hungered hunter,
your lament
floats on the wind a
whimper
a low yowl
moaning
moaning
mourning.

5. Bucket list

To cut my tongue on
the blades
of your shoulders
again.

To bleed sin.

To drip pleasure. To
ooze red.

Ask us,

what we build our days on-

what word-scraps we scavenge upon, malnourished and greedy at once
for what is accidentally
spilt,
crumbs
morsels
involuntary offerings,
hope-
in infinitesimal
portions.

7. Observing pain

I stand by the sink, the grease of
guilty pleasures
under my fingernails,

the water, like a nun, punishing and cold and
sneering, holier than I could ever be. I watch,
wetly,
how the pleasures clog up the pipes both
metal and muscular;
and choke and
sputter
and muddy up a perfectly
good
day.

The Thing
stays knotted.

In the spaces between breaths,
in the cavities that birth words
in the hunger and thirst
and lament in these guts
and in the lack of them all.
The Thing
stays.
choking,
restricting,
knotted.

-Broken Thing

Excerpted with permission from Softly We Fall by Megan Dhakshini published by Sarasvi Publishers, 2024.