poetry

He is eighty, She is seventy

married for eternity, yet
haven’t danced together or
sang songs for each other
never used the phrase “I love you”
but both knew it was hanging
if not floating, in the air.

Their beds that were once
one large bed, have a large
silent musical gap in between
on which the frayed
blanket, torn in two, dances.

On his bed, he farts
cause he doesn’t hear,
she gorges even after burps
cause he doesn’t hear
He hates his hearing aid,
now she can’t hear whispers
cause she always yells.
Still, he mutters-
why does she whisper?

She answers his phone calls
cause he doesn’t hear
the loud ringtones
or the hello from the other end.
He complains- “My children have
forgotten me, their children have
forgotten me.” She yells that they
all love him. She won’t say
she loves him, cause he doesn’t hear.

No television, no internet
but both are busy.
Lost in his newspaper
that he never lets her touch,
a treasure he enshrines
on his bedside dating
from some random years.
She stealthily takes a few away
so that the pile won’t fall on him.

High blood sugar, swollen knees
thinning hair, bags under eyes
both sick in their beds.
He makes her tea. His eyes on her face,
getting restless when she isn’t around.
He is scared that tomorrow
when she’ll whisper his name,
the way she does every day,
he won’t be there.

Nanopoblano 2020 – 6/10

poetry

Boiling Water

A steel pot on the stove
confines the calm water
as our trap holds our tongue

The fire hisses
in the ears of air
and the air bubbles
on being stung

The water searches
for a crack
to seep away
or cool the fire

The air storms into
the cool of water
and pinches the monster
entombed
in a divine depth

Water
once healed the burn
now burns in pain

A million eyes
and no iris
blink on the floor and 
walls of the pot

The monster
opens its eyes
wider and wider
exploding a few
and sees nothing

The eyes stomp hard
on the floor
restless
to escape the grave

One watery eye
perches on the hat
of the pot
its pain vaporising

The monster whines
pulls the shackles
The hat pounds
But when did the dead
open the grave?

The watery eye looks
beneath
in its reflection
a growling monster
consuming itself

The watery eye
gives a sigh
as if a soul beholding
its sleeping self

PS- Shall I turn off the stove?

poetry

My Stronger Half

What are we after all our dreams, after all our memories?
– Nicholas Sparks, The Notebook

Our heads on the same pillow
every night we share our dreams
Someday I will catch this thief
kissing her cheeks - the sunbeam
She is roving around the fairyland
my eyes locked on her sleeping face
The gleaming stars loathe to leave
studs on her curls, increasing her grace
She smiles, stretches her arms
a wave dances and hits the shore
Captivated, I watch her greedily
seashells adorn the offshore
She blinks, beams with delight
she is poetry in motion
I am nothing but a sunken ship
her eyes deeper than the ocean
We move closer and entwine
I dissolved like dew in rain
My soul craves her serenity
I fell harder for her again
Pearls beneath rosy petals
every inch of her body smiles
I want to be that lucky sky
holding my moon standing at miles
Her morning kiss a sheer bliss
my cheeks always wet, still wet
Her empty bedside, her photo lies
Allie! It’s on you that my heart is set

PS – Noah will always love Allie.