Jar of Pickles

Page 1


Words laid out under an April sun


Gurguri

One day When this is over, Gurguri

I hope to take a long look at you Find the bits that are Not me Nor your father

And Love you for them.


Unsolved

I left bits of what you said Unsolved

Hanging from the ceiling Like stars

That put me to sleep Every night


Eggshells

I treat life like spoiled milk Held under a tap of Running water Gurgling through a pipe to nowhere At my age, you stop walking On eggshells but Lay them out like a proud display Of victories and losses And step on them,

Full feet Bare

Noone asks you to be gentle


Hope

Serve hope on a platter And watch men Dance around it Like hungry Bees


Loss

The poached egg on my plate Sits without a toast, The electric posts without the crows The clotheslines without its cotton and Frills and colours and

I, without you Hang on to a string of words You left behind Several days ago.

Words like crumpled paper Stuck in my throat Taste like loss


Mystery

My body stares at me More flesh, More curves, More woman in places My fingers never traced before She tries to speak to me A silent movie A mystery Like milk waiting to boil You never know when it overflows


Lies

After years of being Religious What happens to the man Who discovers

It was nothing but a Box of lies?

Will he ask his gods To jump into the burning pyre, or

Do we only save that for Women?


Dutiful

She lived her life A dutiful wife, Mother Daughter Employee

But in her dreams She danced on the bar Kissed strangers Had orgasms on the streets and Instead of sanitary napkins She paraded in white canvas

She bled like a Thousand rainbows


Depression

1. The 24 hours of a day read like a long to-do list. 2. My body is fine but numb. I can’t relax my fists, toes, neck. I can’t. 3. My tongue tastes like chalk, my heart a cork stuck in my throat. 4. I can breathe… I cannot… I can. Why is it dark? 5. I avoid mirrors. I painted my porcelains black. 6. They say it’s a new day but the sun burns my skin. It doesn’t heal. Everything is a lie. 7. Some nights I die. I emerge from my bones, look at my body and then evaporate. 8. The doc says I have depression, but all I want to do is fly.


Embrace

I tried falling in love With the person in the mirror But every time I embraced her I realized she was Broken and Burning

Now, on most nights, She cries in my arms.


Quarantine

When all else fails, I go back to my roots Listen to what ammu said and avoid Everything that abbu did,

Branch out like sun rays or Shoot for the stars or

Simply hang over the edges of my balcony Like delicate beings that Decorate my quarantine days


Power

Don’t kid yourself

Things have changed There’s no going back to normal

But into an unknown Where air and kisses startle Touches don’t soothe and Relationships lived in the blink of red buttons

But you, You And the power within you Are invincible Growing one setback at a time

Like a flower Every spring


Life

My bullet-proof dreams Sleep among the stars Which I used to pluck as a child

I bound them into a book I go back to On bad days

I call it Life


Fish

Ma always told me to wait Till the oil was hot enough and Then, “Skin first.”

Years later, I still yearn For that fried fish, Steaming rice and a Dollop of ghee

You see, My list is simple Fish Sleep You


Wings

I want my words To be The air beneath Clipped wings

And every flight, A revolution


Letting go

I have boxes under my bed From yesterdays

Pencil shavings Candy wrappers Cassettes Handwritten letters Heartbreaks I saved them all

And with them Every part of me that I’m Not ready to let go

I am a fool The heart-in-my-mouth Clinging-to-my-past kind


Concoction

God is

As long as You are –

A concoction of your weaknesses A validation of your strengths


Appreciation

I am a mad girl Head hung from a swing Legs in the air Staring at an upside-down world Where clouds are made of grass And the roads are blue

And deep within me, somewhere, is you

I breathe muddy air Through pores in my mask and Whistle at ants, birds and sometimes a distant dog

My airplane tickets are yellow Rotting in the bin My sneakers are tied to leaves around my hips I find a new world and a new Appreciation for life

There’s just one thing I don’t know if I’ll survive


Apocalypse

The apocalypse began The day they realized they could Burn books

Since then The world has been crumbling One page at a time

But we walk on the ashes Pretending the world is Fine


Inspiration

As the camera zooms into a packed Wembley Freddie prepares to burn like an eternal fire

Somewhere, not far away A book ignites another

A rainbow strikes two strangers Helping each other cross a bridge

A father dies His pictures the only reason a girl Walks out of the door every day

Dilemma strikes a writer and he Recoils into the folds of his imagination

In a grey office, bent over Grey flies Are you still looking for inspiration?


Inure

On nights like this Somwhere behind a window A wife becomes Inured to violence,

Her heart, Like black clouds, Pours


Separation

The last time I kissed you I didn’t know was the last time

Had I, Then I would have held you longer Until our lips melted into a Never-ending letter on love

Now, separation stretches Between us Like a disease

Last time I checked There was no cure


Disease

Disease Is like a bra On the clothesline

Nobody wants it

Except maybe the crow


Butter

The concept of butter Changes with age And somehow More and more Gets reserved for Other people’s asses

Weel, I still like mine With bread.


Prayer

Every time I put my hands together A little prayer Forces it ways to my mouth

I hesitate because I am not the praying type

I am the mumbling type That wants everything but Doesn’t have the courage to say


Wonder

That my body can Grow life within her Bend her bones and Stretch her soul for Someone else Fills me with wonder

So much

That I will never be able to Look at her the Same way again


Underdog

Unfulfilled love Is always The underdog’s Only writers want to Write to Them


Meetings

On the other side of the moon Meetings happen Under floating teapots and streams

Where little caterpillars serve biscuits And butterflies shed dreams

Where stars sing on the sidelines And all the leaves are pink and

Sometimes old rabbits dance while Ducks perform in rings

Entry is invitation only but That is just for show

For you could jump to the other side If a book you’d pick, you know.


Letter (in memory of Irrfan Khan)

A letter in a lunchbox

Found the wrong man but All the right words and Had me defining love In simple ways. It is true that Only a few stay back as

Vivid stars, smirking at the world Through mirrors, Burning alone in a cold desert Of skinny stories and Overdone faces

A Khan, Like you

Magnificent, Yet so different.


Language you love in

The steaming gobindobhog rice Is a mound of childhood laced with butter Peeled potatoes, boiled Eggs, boiled Sprinkled with salt and green chillies and Filled with the warmth that rose in my heart

When Ma wrapped her arms around me When Baba explained why it was good to fail Tulo came running to me with bleeding knees, Tears rolling down her face When you cradled my bruises and

Every time the little one kicks Inside my belly I smell the plate that I started Loving with



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