i will take your home away with me,
i will lure it with morsels of dry cake,
and see it trail behind me, purring,
wagging its tail, following me places,
all of Delhi’s dirty bylanes, and bastis.
i will do it because i take what i like,
i will do it by seeing everything of your
room, and choose to never un-see it.
i will put it on my heavy thighs and pet it gently
as I sit intently listening to poetry recitations,
for hours and hours; i will steal metaphors
from the air to feed it; and catch enjambments
to make a string and tie its neck,
keep it tucked to my warm full breasts,
a feline love affair with the house of my lover.
I will also recite poems,
but those written by you,
and read them,
as if they were written for me,
i will find myself lurking like an unwanted shadow
from a lamp post on a half deserted street,
somewhere in your half-broken sentences
and awful imagery.
while something licks my chubby ankle
with desperate irony.
tell your daughter
to say yes
to that she wants
to say no to,
you teach her
her no with your yes,
which seems like a good idea
till she grows up
and forgets to say no
to all the things
-From a bad daughter.
(because rupi kaur got me thinking. Also read her original poem from which this one is inspired.)
He took a deep breath and came close to her, overlooking knots of people strewn about him, some cussing, some getting cussed at; he wanted to touch her simply to confirm that his madness does, after all, have a real cause, like a guerrilla sliding his hand down his waist to clutch his gun and feel its cold steel solidity in the wake of an armed revolution, as if that could defy his humane doubts and plunge him into the center of his cause.
“I love you, and I feel ashamed to tell you this. You with this laugh, these fingers, these dirty pair of converse, look so human and incapable of understanding what I’m saying”.
She with her laugh, her fingers, her dirty pair of converse, drew back.
“You’re making somebody feel so loved, is that not enough for you lovers?”