G for Ghost Hurts

some scars you wear with pride,
you know the ones with happy memories,
tava marked my first round roti here, 
fell off the tree kissing there,
tumbled into chicken wire here,
fell from horse and chipped tooth,
scar on neck from falcon bite,
knee is scarred and butt is too
back from scrapes as a teen,
all scars accounted and dried.

but the hardest scar is a from a slap
that was rendered via text:
don't text me. 

trouble is, do i text back an 'okay',
or keep hurting?

F for Freak

yes, i am a freak
a needle stuck
on the vinyl 
of love songs.
someone will soon notice
and seeing the surface scratched
curse me, yank me out
and throw me away. 



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E for Elegant

my love is elegant,
for when he arrives,
swoops upon the chosen one,
everyone stands and stares,
despite themselves.

he's denying me,
a visit. i don;t know why,
and i've been ready for him,
for a couple of months now.

people have other desires,
that keep them entangled,
now i have but one,
i need him to visit me, 
and take me away forever.

there will be no mourners
calling my name,
holding me back,
i know that now for sure.
why have i been kept waiting?




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D for Deathwish

dahi chawal,
with a ghee tadka, 
jeera,mirchi, kadi patta,
salt to taste.

a taste of heaven.
not allowed. any more.
because, medium risk
tongue numbing
wind-pipe blocking 
allergy.

is this what i am to you, Lou?



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C for Callous

many songs are written 
about first cuts to the heart.
no one prepares you, 
for the callous lover,
who claims to be doing 
his duty, the right thing,
before he abandons you,
labeling you 'wrong' 
for ever and ever. 


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B for bereavement

you are supposed to be gentle, they said,
you will be able to forgive, they said,
so i put away all memories in the locker.

something inside me is sharpening its claws 
every day, and it keeps me alert, awake, 
to any sound or smell of death.
no more surprises in the middle of the night.
this time it will be his turn.


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A For Amber: Heart In Amber

amber

'it's not precious at all', the man warns me, 'but women bring their amber to me, hoping to find some value.'

i am anxious as i hand him the molten gold for kintsukuroi, let him cut open my chest.'

'don't get your hopes up,' he examines my 11 ounces of amber, tapping it feeling it.

the chinese calandula draught has numbed the pain.

'it is as i suspected,' the joallier's eyepiece mists up, i notice everything. i hear everything. 

'three cracks' his voice seems to be firm, 'three betrayals.'

the molten gold is applied with a fine brush. i can hear the swish swish. 

he should be applying the irises by now. but he's watching me, 'you have capacity for pain, and that's unusual. the two breaks are obvious for a married woman. one from husband and another from children. but tell me who gave you the third?'

'no one,' i can barely speak, 'just put me back.'

the van gogh mug with irises has been pound to dust. if he would just put the paste on my open chest, the blue flowers would grow on me. that's how it was supposed to be. why was he still looking at the amber heart? i could feel the glow dimming.

'you paid me to fill the first two breaks, i've done that...'

'that's enough, thank you.' i feel tears escaping my eyes and making my ears wet...

'but your father paid me to fill the third one,' he shows me a smaller vial with more gold.

'you can't do that! i need to feel something...' 

'you carry the memories in the blue irises growing out of you, you don't need to carry it in your heart. you'll just die sooner if i don't fill it.'

'last time i looked, what i was doing wasn't called being alive...'




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