A Hint of Jasmine

by | Jul 25, 2024 | Prose

she hovers over two men on a bike beside me. i watch her pull at their noses between the index and thumb of her fingers. i fidget as i await her arrival toward the open window of my cab.

instead, she walks over, cranes her neck just enough to wave and say, “hi madam”, before she walks away. she hadn’t even paused long enough to request my charity. and i never felt greater satisfaction to watch myself be saved of a discomfort that men had to induce instead.

patriarchy had made me cruel.

A Drunken Dance

by | Jul 25, 2024 | Poetry

she held me upright on the grass,
at our feet lay remains of white flowers, raat ki raani
we swayed, or danced and i told her she reminded me of the moon.

Father

by | Jun 3, 2024 | Poetry

caress, his wrinkled finger along the lobe of her ear,
earrings dangling, lingering silver.
silvered moon, crescent and virtually extinct,
extinction of her perfume as they dance,
dancing, my mother in the lead.
leading father, his fingers round the fabric, feel its texture at her waist
wasted. wasted at the thought of her,
her hair which parted, bridge a space on her furrowed forehead,
forehead to kiss.
kiss her again,
against a pretence of obligation.
obliged to love her and be,
be her lover, though his love for her displaced.

Uncle

by | Jun 3, 2024 | Poetry

from a hint of petrichor on its collision with the dirt,
to a mumble in the streets and a damp sidewalk,
i conjure your memory.

i imagine you, only a boy enslaved in the body of a man, as he guides his niece down a memory,
hauntingly familiar.
in awe of unscathed innocence, gently observant of its course.

a strange joy conceives a moment, ignorant of consequence,
soiled sandals didn’t spare her toes, the tips of her pants bathed in rain,
all five of her fingers manage their way round one of yours.

you yearn for the youth age deceived you was absent,
there was a wisdom laced in her crooked vocabulary,
you loved her a little more,
when you saw yourself in her blithe.

Mother

by | Jun 3, 2024 | Poetry

she told me i look beautiful when i cry.
flushed cheeks of velvet and puddled eyelids,
did i really look beautiful mother?

at my feet saw an orbit of tears pooled beyond a horizon,
the pale waters distorted, but i finally looked like you.
to watch my reflection in the foreign symmetry of your face,
left me bewildered.

did you, too, find a twisted solace in quiet cries?
mother, how don’t you see that beauty you found in my sunken eyes,
to see it for you?

the gutted feeling of seeing the strongest person you know refuse to surrender to her pain, when she too, taught you the beauty of release. a concept introduced to me by my father talks about viewing conflict with people as mirrors, as reflections.