A poem by Dakshayini Suresh


The words in my head have

gone soft.

Rancid, like pears

left too long to ripen.


Moist, browning - thin skin oozing

something murky, sugary.

Gluey, like skin skimmed off

cold oats. (A gentle breath of

flaccid steam rises,

sighing into extinction.)


Smug, like a small dungheap

of still-warm tea leaves,

fatly soaking up

the dregs that lie

pooled around it.


Silent, like limp carrot peels

perched in an orange pile

at the sink edge:

damp whorls of near-translucent thinness

with pale, minuscule root-hairs

drying in the warmth.

 
 

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