Vol 12, Num 23 :: 2013.12.13 — 2013.12.26
You kept the book on the rack,
removed the book, placed it again,
removed placed again
removed placed.
I was making tea in kitchen,
warmth of late afternoon on my limbs;
my mind registered repetitive sound, eyes drooped.
In the pause of a second
before milk boiled over
book on the rack placed again.
I asked you to stop.
You said
from deep depths of inside,
I will die if I stop.
Fear in your eyes,
shadows of sleepless nights.
In that house of large verandahs
wall the color of curdled milk
wooden pillars painted blue
to someone’s whim,
did you smell on me the kiss of a stranger?
Your little girl freshly bathed,
drops of water
where the fragrance of sandalwood oil stayed,
he smelt it as he groped me in the temple —
the oil that you bought
in a famed shop
outside Mysore palace.
As I ran through the lanes
rich with pollen in the air
fear sucked my breath away.
I would have loved to die.
Come, father,
let us die.
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