Stubbornness

I sat on that dust couch sulking
When you came in
Asking what was wrong
I growled stubbornly
And you turned away

In that second
My resolve melted
And the tears stung
Knowing not what error I'd made
Or why you were so cold

Suddenly you burst into the room
Prepared to shout
Or scream, disappointment
Clouding your brows

To find me curled up
In your corner of the universe
Knowing not my wrong
Or why you were so cold

Suddenly you burst into the room
Pick me up, straighten my bends
Shielding me from the very same
Hurt that you initiated

Lecturing and whispering
At the same time
Rebuking and nurturing
At the same time

Our strong hearts giving in
The room was filled
With the jingle of sincere apology
Alternating from our lips

You and I at once vindicated
When stubbornness gave way
To simple communication
How easy it can be

Strawberries and Whipped Cream

My entry for this week's Three Word Wednesday. The words were: Juggle, Fawn and Navigate.

You: juggling two bright scarlet strawberries
Me: aggravating a tall can of whipped cream
Impish sparks in our eyes

Under the filtered sunlight from the window
I attack, covering in gleaming sweet whiteness
Your dark, fawn-coloured skin

I squeal, you quieten me with an assault
Sour fruit juice trickling down my berry lips
Faster than summer sweat

Guiltlessly, like the children we are
Along soiled kitchen counters, sheets, towels

We navigate a path

To some blissful alternate universe
Like explorers with magic maps and grand plans
We escape the realm of time

--For Raa and Di. You know this poem was written for you.

Chicken

I was pecking at a grain

Of golden wheat

You chase behind me

I squawked and leapt but never flew

White streak across the backyard

Too slow my stubby legs

To escape, caught

And dragged into

A darkness

I cannot comprehend

But I see suddenly

And cry
Flapping desperately
Kicking your
Muscled arms
To no avail

Comes impending doom

I sees the swift

And heavy blade

My neck breaks

The sink a red river

Bloody and gushing

There was no pain I recall

As I watch over myself

In your arms, twitching

Bloody and gushing

A hot water tap is opened

The steam engulfs 

The dingy room

The odour almost

Unbearable

The knife was not enough

You drown me now

In the scalding hot water

The ruffle of my mane

Melts away into a puddle

The coarse, white overcoat

Gives way to

Tender pink skin

You fondle it with care

Feeling every bump

There is something

Kinky about the way

You do it

As if you know

I am watching you

You clean me

Preparing me

For my funeral rites

The horror is not over

You close your eyes

Take a deep breath

Bring the heavy knife 

Upon me once more

Crack my bones

Separate my good

And my bad

Categorised by others

Exactly like you

I am now

A meal

Ready-to-cook

Bite-sized

I am now

Unrecognisable

As a life, or a being

I am now

Just a price

Displayed in a supermarket

"Honey!
Chicken pie for dinner?"


--I love Three Word Wednesdays!

Twisted Mind

Draft elaborate plans

Meticulous

Plotting

Old, crumbling parchment

Blue ink blotting

Your past

Run fingers through my hair

Paint my lips red

With teeth

Locate my weakest bone

Coldblooded grip

Hammer

Salty steel and skin meet
Black, dense terror
Blinds me

Moth eaten, white pillow

Stifling the sound

From world

Lie back on your armchair

Serenity 

Overcomes

Walking On

Three Word Wednesday. This week's words: Amateur, Diligent, Nurture.

I fumble like an amateur as I tread the stony path to you, like I haven't learnt from my mistakes. My feet are bloody, I have forgotten the place from where I began. It's dark and rather lonely here. Sometimes I wonder why I trudge on because I see no sight of you. Or of anyone else. I wonder if it is because my eyes (and my brain) are set on finding you, and you alone. I hear echoes. If only they didn't resonate from the past. I feel the rubbery graze of a bat and goosebumps erupt on my arm. I curse you for always being more than a step ahead. I hate you for not waiting. The trees make strange shadows overhead. Stretching wily fingers at me. It's not fear that engulfs me but I can't figure out why I feel this nausea.

Do you remember those afternoons on the bed, with the sun filtering in through the sheer white curtains, when we played cards and bickered like children? When my fingers diligently traced the lines of yours as if I could memorize the exact pattern of your fingerprints. My mind drifts to winter evenings cycling to ancient corners for cheap food and loud crowds. When we found the little hill with the lone tree and you looked at me with eyes brimming with awe. I think of that quiet session with your music in our ears and the biting cold at our feet and I'd felt like we'd grown up, but stayed just the same.

I don't want to go on anymore. What used to feel like a blanket nurturing me in snowy weather now feels like a bed of nails. Those childlike antics of ours used to be enough. But innocence has been blackened over the years and what's left of our incredulous theatrics is simply a mediocre pantomime. Endless words and open laughter have given way to pathetic silences. The arms that protected now shirk responsibility, like a superhero past his prime.

I cannot let go, despite it all. My blistered feet walk on.

A Day At The Field

Three Word Wednesday. My first entry. This week's words are Cancel, Elastic and Labour.

She bends over the seeds
Golden paddy husk
And the sweat of her labour
Coat her tanned skin
Stain her blouse dark

Her spine bends over
Then straightens, then bends

Bones like elastic
Matted hair greasing her neck
Fingers worn and cut

She bends over the river
Deftly scrubbing her dirty clothes
She slips in among
The gentle lapping waves
To cancel away the day's grime