By-Karmishtha Krishna
I clasp the ceiling and stare;
Stare back at those fearful eyes
Wondering why I am culpable
Wondering when their hearts
Might show a glimpse of magnanimity.
They call me “chhipkali”-
I have phobias named after me.
They call me a house lizard
Ironically, I am homeless.
I feel lonely sometimes
Looking at others my size
Dressed in reds and browns and greens
And whatever color
Nature fancies them to be
Having a gala tea party;
Wondering whether it's my beige
Or my vacuum feet
That make me so disgusting.
There is another though;
In this home of extravagance,
That seems to suffer from desertion too.
An old lady of about eighty
With silvered strands and sunken sockets
Wanting to talk to me
Wanting to say, “These plain walls capture me.”
But her senses give way;
She presses her spectacles up closer
Wrinkles up her ringed nose
And chants Aum prayers
Feeling telepathically closer to God;
Her only companion in this air of solitude.
I want to tell her-
“Ajji, fair is foul and foul is fair
And beauty isn’t always as bare;
When I see your ethnic eyes
Diving through waves of compassion
Searching for someone,
Someone to swim through them with –
I am here.
When I see the shapeless scar
Capturing your internal strength;
Hiding behind that fake giggle
When your children discuss it at length
I want you to know –
I understand your loneliness.
I want to be there for you.”
But instead of speaking my heart
I give out an affectionate noisy fart;
Which I think Ajji did not fancy.
Her frail bones pick out a broom,
She sweeps me away from her sky;
And I am estranged yet again.
Running away from nothing but silence;
Running away to nothing but silence.
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn