Feminism

Feminism

Feminism is the radical notion that women are people , said someone famous. That sums up feminism better than any long winded defin...

Saturday, 7 June 2014

Shroud


Like ropes passing through my nose into my lungs,
each breath leaves me,
tying me into knots,
knobbly, convoluted.

Flashes of your presence on my tongue,
I lock them down, and stow the taste away.

Pretend not to see them,
these insidious patterns;
embedded,
carved on my skin.
They worm their way in.
hollow me out from within.

Like moss slowly encroaching,
monsooned walls of a shed,
etched permanently, on my being.
Claw as I may, with my bare nails and fingers,
I cannot dislodge your imprint.
Blood runs into rivulets of sweat,
A symphony of liquids plays.

My skin,
like a mound of earth, dug up,
with roots of grass snaking out and in,
thrown on a coffin.

A shroud, the air unfurls all around,
hangs heavy like a day of mourning.
Yet, life lingers,
time not yet for passing.

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