My Bloody Feet

Soiled blood clots and penetrates the crooked edges
The child drinks it,
Draining every bit of my body, preserving the integrity of Madhavi
I belong to her.

Do not search me for your presence
Drink my blood but she gnaws on my marrow.
Silent rushes of pain gush through my uterus
You pick your boxes and disappear—
They are books that are your luggage but they were not books that I kept,
Your soul perched through the veins of the letters were in my possession.
The duration was short but the period perennial.

Wash my feet and put green nail colour on it
The leaves will grow soon out of it in winter;
And if they do not then my nine barren and one arthritic nail will
Melt itself in the blood the child spits out.

This is an old poem of mine first published in Extract(s)

As I re-post it, I resist the urge to edit the poem. Yes, maybe today if I were to (re)write it, it would not have been the same but I like the rawness and the unpolishedness of it, for that is how I began and have been consistently trying to improve.


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