My room
filled to the brim,
in expectation
of a grand farewell
They want me away,
I should be away,
never come
in sight, sound, sense
I am told
I am lucky
to receive
the carved furniture,
the carved pain,
the carved agony of un-belonging
Like chaff from grain,
They’d
throw away the husk of men
and give me the finest
Thereafter
they’ll grudge
my every visit.
Count
the phases of the moon
On the ninth day
after the new moon;
I’ll weep familial demises
at the door
unable to cross
the threshold
of my natal lunar calendar.
Love they said it was
that sent me away.
Ah! love,
that castrated me
from my childhood
into unequal parts
He too said it was love
that took me to him,
seven circumambulations
and I bowed each time.
He kept count.
I sucked on
a lozenge of hate
and counted all their love.
I will leave
with the hate stuck in my molars.
I’ll blot from life
and become a worm
still nibbling
on the hate of so many loves.
Amritsar
15-01-2012
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