Today they put me into a deep slumber
at an inconvenient hour
when several unsettled weekends
of an affair that miserably failed,
lay scattered inside my head.
From the fateful past, the phone rang.
Picking up the crooked instrument,
I heard a familiar voice,
coolly proceeding to spell the end.
Like reaching a wrong number, he said,
our whole relationship was a mistake:
I thought I had dialled someone else
but I got to you instead;
sorry, but we must now disconnect.
Before I could intervene or comment,
chuckling over his little jest,
the eavesdropping instrument went dead--
and I was left utterly drained.
When I awoke they had scoured my womb.
The doctor said
I had bled a lot,
but was otherwise doing well.
I was sore all over
and the remains
clung to me like stale, dry sweat,
binding my hair in stiff ringlets.
I felt strange,
throwing up undigested memories again and again.
After a while
I huddled in bed
trying to compose the leftovers
and still the belly ache.
|Copyright © 2005 - Makarand Paranjape|