Sunday, September 19, 2004


My friend had left after a long stay. Back to her country
her discarded paintings hanging on the wall
(charcoal mouths wide with desolation) -
bed sheets and mattress lying in baffled abandon -
kettle and coffee mug fuming with injury -
the Gitas, Anitas, Mahaswetas huddling in intimate resentment --
Each awaiting the promised release
awaiting the polythene bags on the floor.

Critically, cynically I swept the room
dismantling the odds and ends of my friend.
Meticulously heaped, ruthlessly disbanded; pickings were made.
My friend says it feels strange
to hear how people have taken over
her things, bits of her.


Selva said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
Selva said...

hey monika...

loved reading ur poems...more than words i red u in those words...ur personality ur thoughts and ur way of thinking is amazing...i must say that. Well, i wrote just to make my living, writing those punny advertising lines, but thro u i learnd there is more to words than jus persuading people. thx for inspiring me.