Skip to main content

CaPoWriMo-6 (Pallankuzhi)

Were those your bangles I heard
as you wiped your brow
or were they the clinking of cowrie-shells
as you put them in holes
seven by seven?
I thought I heard you laugh
making an unexpected, clever move
or was it the sound of pearls
falling, one by one?
Was that a cry of victory
as you have won the match
or was it your honey-voiced anguish
never willing to lose
fair or otherwise?
That was clearly the board tossed
in indignant, violent protest
and utter denial that you lost;
or did you just claim
with eyelashes pleading for agreement
that you tripped on a floorboard?
But there is another game afoot,
isn't it - a love game you play
with my heart-breaking imagination?

(Pallankuzhi is a popular board game in Tamil Nadu)

(Published  in Indian Review, April 2011)

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

She's complicated

She's complicated. She'll charm you with charts, statistics and that corporate smile. But look into those eyes, they're fiercely bohemian. She's complicated. Her chatterings seem to resonate with happy sounds, but listen with the other ear, to an unhidden lament. She's complicated. Her silences agonise, her voice echoes in her absence. And yet there is a mild dread as her name flashes on the ringing phone. She's complicated. Sometimes she's a poetess, shallow, romantic, trying to hide a sardonic, world-weary wit. She's complicated. She could be a spiteful Fury, wrath unabated, but that's just to hide the lamb-hugging girl within. She's complicated. She's an enchantress, a fool, a tyrant, a nurse, an imp, a priestess, but she's generally a good friend. She's complicated. Published in Making Waves - A Poetry Anthology , ed. Pam & Bill Swyers; Swyers Publishing 2011. ISBN: 978-0-9843113-6-1.

Fit

 What we are is a jigsaw pieces that come together searching for edges that match some we know will never sit: a sideways glance, a crush, a lifelong regret; some we think will last, but no we stick around a while and then we know we are meant for other things, other people, other places but mostly just being othered some of us are corner pieces who know where we are and who will come to find us eventually I can only wish I was that and some of us are that piece that doesn't fit neither color nor shape nor corner we force it sometimes, set it aside for some later unfulfillable hope until it is too late to realise we were left over from another puzzle, with only the longing to fit, to belong, to be included

Rat

I'm a rat, I'm a rat, I scurry and I bite, I eat what I get, And I fuck and I fight, I dodge the black crows, I run from your shoes, But I'm old or sick, you'll trample over me.