For Once

I think of you,
wearing a new sari –
a shade of orange,
a shade of green –
standing in your balcony
while the whole city
bursts crackers to rejoice
your existence.

I think of you,
lighting a lamp –
a thick cotton thread,
and a spoonful of oil –
to kill the darkness.

I think of you,
mixing flavours
in a hot pan –
a tablespoon of mustard oil,
a few cumin seeds,
a bit of turmeric,
a pinch of chilli powder,
a thick paste of ginger and garlic,
and everything else spicy –
to cook something
to feed your hungry guests
who have their eyes set on you;
eating is just an excuse.

I think of you
celebrating,
rejoicing,
living,
while I sit here
alone
in darkness,
cold,
hungry,
with a pen and paper
in my hand
to honour you with all that I can offer
with my words –
I am no scholar.

Won’t you wrap me
in your new sari –
a shade of orange,
a shade of green –
and drive the cold away?

Won’t you take a handful
of the food you made –
mixing flavours
in a hot pan –
a tablespoon of mustard oil,
a few cumin seeds,
a bit of turmeric,
a pinch of chilli powder,
a thick paste of ginger and garlic,
and everything else spicy –
and feed me with your
bare,
naked hands?
Spoons are just a waste of time.

And when I am full,
and can eat no more,
won’t you light a lamp –
take a thick cotton thread,
and a spoonful of oil –
and drive the darkness away
from the unvisited corner of
my heart?

When all of this is done,
and the sound of firecrackers
slowly fades away,
engulfed in the orange of dawn,
won’t you
take me in your arms,
in the comfort of your warm breasts,
and put me to sleep,
for once?

One thought on “For Once

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