Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Funeral for the living

The blades
of the sickle moon
Shone upon her gray tresses
chopped after four decades
What remained
of the tapering gray
ponytailed wisp
was akin to amputated
leftover stumps

Slow, wheelchaired
when the plastic chair
broke under her weight
and much fidgeting around
She turned to each sound
With her hyperglycaemic gaze
Sisters came to conspire
Gave her sweetened tea
Behind my back
To cheer her bored sore afternoons

She died expected
And un- sudden
After tolerating
The foreign tube
in her balloonous tummy
for six long years

As a family
The crowd gathered
For the ritual mourning
It was tragedy
and a joke
and oh! Why didn’t he come?
The food was judged,
And so were the ritual songs
The singers
bend with age
braved the dusk
with a bared torso

Aunt, garlanded
and young
beyond the vagaries
of diabetes
from the gold gilded frame

http://soibamharipriya.blogspot.com ©


The night
with phairen’s sudden showers
clears up
Outshined by the moon
freckles of stars
remained obscured
in its usual pattern
The freshly cleansed breeze
Brought news
of his release
from a once dreamt dream
But like me
he was caged
His heart beneath his ribs
mine beneath my bosom
Yet from within
his prison of bones
one day
he will summon
love’s tender weakness
I will dream
of charting out
in the abject vastness of the sky
with a stars studded map
I will embrace
the season of nuptials
with fear of exile
with hope of a genesis
with another heart
in another chest
one rib less
than mine

http://soibamharipriya.blogspot.com ©