Now I know why she still neatly stores the
flesh less, vein less, bloodless skeleton of a past relationship.
For she has seen the fullness of her body tamed by practice and will
And those men, sleek like drones, hovering, casting shadows,
with mouth like a dark cavern, gleaming uneven teeth,
hands swaying like a hooded snake;
also that child around her
with bright dreamy eyes, jumping like a young goat,
the unseen umbilical cord palpable.
So, she watchfully draws a perfect vermillion circle
in between her eyebrows
and goes about in cleaning the carcass of an old forgotten love.
She often would powder those ashen love words
and put some naphthalene balls
and synthetic fragrance to keep away the stench.
To survive
she clings to a love
that no longer has a soul, or a body
but a few lifeless rotting cadavers.
Note:
" a perfect vermillion circle in between her eyebrows" -- a symbol of marriage for most Indian women.
