A mother bids goodbye
To her girl with the red bows
Wrapped tight like around her pigtails,
Like a kautuka.
Everyday this ritual begins as day breaks
She stirs prayers into the dal khichdi
That fills her sparkling steel tiffin box
Irons all the worried creases out of her pinafore skirt
Massages slick oily hope into her dark hair
All day, the thoughts in her mind
The stories of neighbors
The neon newsflashes
Weave knots in her body,
Hold a knife against her back.
She can almost smell the blood.
-30-
Copyright©Madras Courier, All Rights Reserved. You may share using our article tools. Please don't cut articles from madrascourier.com and redistribute by email, post to the web, mobile phone or social media.Please send in your feed back and comments to editor@madrascourier.com
