~My Father and Mother Had a Song~

/My father’s face has turned opaque since autumn.
Nothing passes through his hollow eyes, not even his daughters scream for help./ /He and I sit across the table eating our soup,
his hardened face spilling the liquid down the jagged edges of his mouth,painting a disgusting sight that I choke on mine./

/My father’s face has turned into a poets nightmare.
No metaphors exist to describe the repulsiveness.
Not even the slimy grimy tar in the street,
Not even the cold heart of a pedophile,
Not even the memory of the first unwanted touch in my thighs./

/My father and I share a common grief.
But we do not even share our silences.
He sits with his and I wander with mine./

/But today I caught him revolting
against his own god-damned tight face.
His face creaked as he attempted to shake off the grime. He played yeh nayan dare dare slumping into the recliner as I caught his face creaking and breaking. Scrapes of grief now lay on his shirt making a mess so beautiful that I held my breath./

/My father and my mother had a song that was forbidden since autumn. Until today./

 

Artist: Paul Wright
Img Source: Pinterest

Hair Salon

As I slump into the swanky chair, self- love chooses the particular moment to go out for a stroll. You see this is the longest I have been in front of a mirror and my too big a nose, too small a pair of eyes, too thin lips, too this and too that come out of their rat holes to play pranks like the mischievous kids who are left at home without parents supervision. They join hands with my beautician and mess with my head and push myself to think I am a fast going bald face with no features. I wait for self love to come who, bloody idiot that it is, always disappears at times like this. But I know better. It’s all in my head. No cancel that. It’s all in my hair. Snip snip snip and my low self esteem is gonna drop down on the floor joining the other defeated issues.Soon enough, my opinions about myself will be blow-dried in fumes. My new face with new hair is going to be my redemption. My world is going to change the minute I exit from here. I will meet my self love half way from the street, say hi, move on and watch people die of spondylitis on the way as they turn their heads. I can’t wait to live my life, you wait and watch.
30 minutes and a hole in my pocket later, I look no different.

Kindness

In a country where Shirley Davidson lives
people are going crazy
augmenting themselves with carefully curated
self-love, self -care, self -respect
and filling themselves with so much love that
lately it had been spilling all over

Newsflash
yesterday kindness exploded all over the country
after failing to keep it to themselves anymore,
the country civilians unabashedly took full responsibility of the same,
has also warned the rest of the world in the same breath
that this is just the beginning

People are being smothered with love and care,
smiles are being spread like wildfire,
animals are being sheltered at homes,
shopkeepers and hotels owners are being generous to beggars,
religions are hugging it out, sleeping together and chilling in living room sofa,
meanwhile,
He has been looking at the full blown massacre
down there and calling it Utopia

But the truth is
kindness IS spreading,
they are coming to you,
to us,
trailblazing like the showstopper
because
this time kindness isn’t soft, subtle and silent,
this time kindness is strong and screaming the gut out
against injustice,
kindness is brutally tearing down cold walls,
kindness is the rotten apple in the basket spoiling the others

I guess all we can do is take a deep breath,
be prepared
to witness our hatred within
being brought to its knees

Suffice to say that we are all screwed!

I promise, I will be dead.

I will be the best in business. I will cook up a storm for 50 people in the hot kitchen and yet smell like lavender. I will smile tight-lipped at 6:30, then with little bit of my teeth out at 4-15 , speak at 10:03 and twitch my brows like a goddess at 23:00. I will wear heels and not make clack clack noise. I will let golden weights choke my neck and I will find pleasure in it, no worries. I will walk in small steps, talk in low voices and drink wine only when you are around and from your glass. I will bleed and render myself untouchable as you would replace me in the kitchen and temple for three days and be called a hero. I will click selfies with you then and share with people. I will paint myself fair & lovely and make chapatis as round as the red bindi on my forehead that will scream for attention and then drive them away – I am married, I am married, I am married.

So tell me. Will your folks then let you marry me? I promise, I will be dead.