I saw your heart
billowing on the clothline
where you hung it out to dry,
while your soul left
for forty days of fasting in the desert.
Through your now clear
and transparent husk
I could see
you have marked the place
where you would
put them back—
right next to your wounds.
In your temple
I violate the ritual,
by drawing the pattern
of your birthmark
before brushing sindoor
on your forehead
and turmeric
on your collarbone.
Twenty Words Tuesday by Bulbul
Week 36
Golden
You punish me by loading your cauldron of silence on my back. It isn’t golden. It is dark and heavy .
Leena.
You punish me
by loading
your cauldron of silence
on my back.
It weighs heavy
but your antagonistic eyes
warn me
I cannot spill even a drop
and if I did,
it would take
a whole sky of paper napkins
to wipe it dry.
Musings of a Wandering Dryad 