Butcher, beautiful

Plaited hair
shiny, dark
adorned with
contrasting
colours of
jasmine and crossandra.

The bangles
jingled coyly
when she stretched
out a hand to grab two
white chickens
from the cage.

The cleaver went up,
then, down.
Rivulets of red
went hiding
into the feathers;
white, dishevelled.

They set
themselves
against
each other
in their
eagerness to be
unique, different,
distinct…
and ended up
being comically
identical!

‘That’s a rose,
no, a bleeding heart,
no, a scarlet socks, wet, folded,
frozen blood,
the remains of a butchered fowl…’

The pandemonium rose into a crescendo
with each one trying to prove
themselves right.

Daggers and swords
were drawn
out of their sheaths.
Blood spilled,
warriors fell, beheaded.

And there remained
the rose, bleeding heart,
scarlet socks, wet, folded,
frozen blood,
the remains of a butchered fowl…

Metamorphoses

Last night,
I turned into a cow,
grazing upon the hills
and valleys you’d become.

The Collector

He collected, on the way,
whatever came to him,
not purposefully though.

It varied from
pebbles to petals
and feathers to splinters.

‘Leave behind some
in order to carry on smoothly’,
advised the wise men.

But he was clueless
what to abandon,
and hence he plodded
till crushed,
rather ridiculously
like a fat frog, squashed.

The Perfect Simile

Snuggled against me
you giggled.
Sceptically
I scrutinized,
the accuracy of
the worn out simile;
conch-like neck.
Perfect.

‘I LOVE YOU’

We sat there
against the purple sky
face to face
flowing into each other.

Then, you let out;
‘I LOVE YOU’.
Those three words,
like three giant pillars
in an ancient temple,
fell upon me,
leaving me dead
spewing blood.