Optical Disullision

Stock image
His eyes were crosshairs zoning in like

A vulture onto her cheekbones carved by the

Sleep-skilled hand of her friends taught by

Sleepy old people in cottages, crafting

Every second of their life another bulimiac

Out of clay that had broken off of rocks held

And crushed by their forefathers’ skilled hands

Into powder that could be moulded and churned:

Powder that would be puppets on a stage they set up themselves.
Her eyes were emeralds crafted by pressure under

Layers of earth, burning lava that had been cooled

Because it was forced into cracks by laws of physics:

Laws of patriarchy.
His eyes were frozen lakes in a lacklustre winter:

Glassy and iced over with translucent paper

That flew away in ashes like midnight bats

When the dungeons of her eyes let out its

Dragons that spewed fire over his soul:

Fire that spread like honey.
Their eyes were never caught in embrace,

They skirted around each other like shy lovers:

They were veiled by a silken cloth that was spun

With “hush,” “not here,” “don’t speak like that,”

And neither could she erase his crosshairs

Nor could he nourish her skin for veils are

Of an impermeable nature,

So they tore through the veil. 

Each thread one by one. They set fire to the edges.

They poked holes through it until finally,

He saw her eyes.


Diaphanous Dreams

A sweet cloud of cotton candy descended

Upon us like the sticky steam from a sauna

Bath; gently the wisps of sugar curled around

Our free, rotund figures, prying its fingers

Into cavities and grazing its elbows against

The layered crevices and eroded escarpments-

Quietly we accepted it’s unmentioned yet

Recognised protrusion like a sanskari naari;

Softly it’s threads burnt against the heat 

Of our skin– heat stolen from the 

Laal-jhanda minions stuck in the fluid

Local Transit of plasma on tarred roads.

Soon, the sucrose shed it’s guise and an

Ugly caterpillar broke out from the butterfly’s

Cocoon and creeped around leaving trails

Of its bitter, caramel excrement camouflaged

Against my historically ironic complexion-

(Prejudiced against yet clamoured for)

And I so sweetly smelt your nose-hairs dreaming

The same dreams I was taught to be an

Attribute to; and so I fell into the flight of our

Silent, sweaty, secret, little rendezvous.

Sanskaari naari= a woman who follows “traditions”

Laal-jhanda= red-flagged, a reference to communists