poem#22

Without you
my kitchen will be the old mess;
so much dust and stain gathered
not a foot set in days.

The onions, the garlic, the chillies in the basket- the vegetables
in the shelf- long wilted
The soap bar- with little water in its case- has melted
the tap is crammed
the basin pipe jammed
used utensils reeking of stale curry
lie here and there
those cock roaches have bred a generation- their young ones- oblivious of me
pry everywhere.

I do not know where you placed the salt
or the sauce
I cannot find the match box
There is some oil in the bottle-long due its date;
the chilli powder- damp- is hard as brick
the stove- rusted; the gas line seems to leak.

Where is the fry pan?
Oh I see it- hanging in the safe- shadowed by a spider's web.
Squinting my eyes I nervously break an egg into the pan
the oil spills- a dozen drops lands- on my body neck and face
I rush to the tap-
I shower water- but bruises have made their brown trace.

The fire goes on
goes on
goes on.
The egg burns. The burnt face smokes. I do not feel like turning it over...


I miss you in your absence
I miss you when I am playing your role
I miss you when I am a lonely soul!