Thursday, May 05, 2016

A Lady’s Handbag

I am sharing with you my first poem in more than two years. 

You were like a lady’s handbag
Binging on all the lists they provided;
You were ravenous…

Having not learnt the hows and whens
of letting go
you swallowed all:
            the pens, the sandals
            the pains, the scandals

You imbibed them
and you swell, like a river in July,
and hanged on

On a branch
whose xylem has been beaten by the Harmattan

On a ledge
whose underbelly has been eaten by salt

On a hand
that gets weaker every step of the thousand miles

And the wind came and broke the branch
and shook your outstretched hand
and the bag fell from its ledge

onto their torrid faces

Exposing the dross –
The gross congeries of misshapen things;
An amorphousness

Of memories lost and forgotten
Of things seen and unidentified
Of events fluxed in the static-fluidity of time

You laid there
A consciousness of shattered things
under the feasting flashes of social-media addicts

who meme’d you and mined you
into juicy feeds and newsy reads, conjecturing
            The cause
            The source…


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