The Poetry Marathon

cooking for me is a game of guessing
drop into the pot what you wish, the less you reveal, the tastier it is
sometimes i’m tasting with my stomach cells or my gills
John loves what i cook but America doesn’t
America loves what i cook but John doesn’t
who cares? not me
me
obfuscating the whole business of cooking
i cook therefore i am
who can deny that?
the old women of witchcraft would say
cooking is a balm and a poison
who knows which

POV

mumbai suburb
small house
three kids
housewifely

chores
housekeeping
tutoring kids
washing
the dregs
from the smug teacup
i told you so
it smirks at me
i told you so
it mocks me

the cup
all neatly wrapped
now lies as
pieces in the trash

fingers weave
yours and mine
you press hard
demanding
punishing
hurtful

are these my fingers
is this love

i am here
here i am
the
poetry
marathon
here i come
breathe
just breathe
new learnings
a newer me
breathe
just breathe
one hour at a time
i can do that
i breathe
i am at peace

hope for the best
that’s what everyone said
but how to hope in hope
when one is confused
and sans hope
when all i see is
the caterpillar me
and what i want
it s butterfly to be

i want to believe, lord
please help me sort my unbelief

Acknowledgement: ‘How to use your Healing Power’ by Dr Joseph Murphy

speaking of wounds
did you know
that you can
heal yourself

that you can heal
of wounds past
and present

that you can heal
from emotional
and physical hurts

through a simple
process as described
by the humble
yet great Dr Murphy

the body is designed
so beautifully
by the Creator
that it knows
to heal

in fact, that’s
the only thing
it knows best

we spend a lifetime
running after
healing for ourselves
for our loved ones

when all we have
to do is learn
how to use our innate
healing power

breathe and be one
with the Creator

i watch you,
hawk-eyed
though it is you
who’re preying
on my misery
i watch you
when i turn
this way or that
somehow
you’re always
in my field of vision
throwing
your head back
and laughing
at some silly
joke SHE’s told you
and i see
the vein
in your neck throb
my skin’s gone cold
mouth’s dry
you’ve forgotten
so easily?
which side of you
do i believe?
the one that
calls me
in secret
affirming
our bond?
or the hand that’s
clutching HERS
now?
it’s over, the spring
leaves, proud
in their green
tenderness,
say smugly to me
and something shardy
hurts so deep
i bleed
and my skin
erupts
the doctor’s verdict:
lichens planus
likely cause: extreme
emotional stress

to immerse
oneself
in nature
is to embrace
all insects
and accept that
making your
bed amongst them
is the surest way
to invite them
into your bed

to reach my island home
once you’ve alighted
from the ferry:
lift your nose
inhale deeply the crisp and tangy air
tilt your head
inhale again
does that stir memories?

walk to the minibus
parked beside
the squat red cement shed
that serves
as a shelter
against the elements
but not against mosquitoes
and myriad other insects
that descend at dusk

board the bus
choose a seat of your liking
they’re all hard
and not at all comfortable
but that doesn’t matter

the ride begins
and the green hits you
at eye level
interpersed
with dips of silvery blue
slivers on land
while large swathes
of white pock marked blue
colour the open spaces

don’t mind the rattle of the windows
or the clatter of your teeth and bones
the driver has a good track record
but better to hold
the handle of the seat ahead
in case of exigencies

the velocity of the bus
barely allows you to appreciate
the variety of bird life
at innocuous play
around the mangroves
surrounding the place

as the bus climbs small hills
speeds around bends
squeezes past other vehicles
on the narrow, winding road
you’re forced to admire
its agility

the bus heaves
past the last hill
overtaking the fat
woman with pendulous steps
it trundles across
a railway overbridge
the road narrows
like a school master’s
piercing gaze
as a vehicle approaches

you wonder
how the impasse
will resolve
and you’re witness to
the magical expansion
of the road that
lasts a few moments

you exhale
realising you had held
your breath all this while

you stand when
you sight the white
domed structure
towering above the trees
Candelaria chapel

clutching every possible aid
you yell to the driver
to stop
and stumble out
at your destination
thankful of the use
again of your legs

pistils curled upward
the flower awaits
the bee’s busy elsewhere