Wednesday, April 22, 2015


The sun, a cauldron of fury shone mercilessly that summer,
Burning the porches and verandahs,
Curling the silent leaves within.

The reluctant children dragged in to take a nap
created more havoc within the burning bricks.

Her delicate, tiny fingers molded Ganapati idols
Out of the clay dug from the corner of children's park.

And all of a sudden the scorching universe
seemed to empty its full fury
over her little butterfly shoulders
heaving like a butterfly's wounded wings.
She seethed from within and ran away from the chattering friends
To her mother sleeping in the room.

Mummy I want to say something
She heard a slight murmur and gulped in hot air for courage
I know I will have to stay inside from now
- like didi
Please mummy, don't thrash me-
I didn't do anything wrong deliberately.

She heard a yell and pushed
herself further in the corner

Your sister will deal with it.
My blood pressure has surged suddenly.

She scurried away, careful
not to be too light on the slight feet.

The butterfly wings, soaked in blood,
Fluttered in anticipation of more fragrant meadows
And drooped, heavy with the weight of metamorphosis.

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