Vol 12, Num 18 :: 2013.10.04 — 2013.10.17
My upbringing was impeccable. I never left behind my comb
with strands of hair, never let my skirt balloon
on the clothesline at night time, rolled away my mat, swept the floor.
Twilight is dangerous, my father had warned. Open the doors,
let gods see everything, that your house is clean,
you are clean at dusk time, your mind swept clean of desire.
I caught dragonflies in the garden, set them loose in my room —
the filigree of light as sunset poured in veins of capillaries.
My heart bled in captivity, in neurotic paroxysm of fear.
I learnt to keep my lips parted as the sound of air escaped
to rest on the words of gods who sang through vowels.
I let gods pulsate through chants — clangs of consonants.
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