I will not tell you what my heart feels for
It spasms; a bird shot down in flight. It is white and blood dribbles from the hole in its white curve
Your gun smokes from the words fired
I shall not fetch the bird for you to deplume
And roast tender over a slow fire
Better that it lies unseen in the undergrowth
Better that it spasms and stops, giving up its ghost when done
I have watched my belongings scatter and wash up on the shores
I could not stop the case before it fell and floated to the sea. I hurried but watched desperately as it caught in the eddies and crashed on the rocks
Now I gather what I find and hope that those found by others will be returned to me
I sense my shame as the contents of my case float for all to see. Some are gathered by others and some, the more intimate are not, deliberately
I hope for kindness and do not hear the mocking laughter that falls upon my ears
I listen selectively to the words uttered by some to comfort me and am glad for these
I know that you are not around. I know that you will not be. Instinctively. I wonder if you know. I wait for when you will come. I wait hopefully. I wait with the hope that you will comfort me. I do not know whether you will come or comfort. There’s that uncertainty. Still, I hope.
I struggle with myself and I know that I have to continue with what I do in spite of my tears, in spite of the laughter that I wish not to hear but do, of the jealous twang that underlies it, wishing to hold me back, wishing to shatter me and I decide not to succumb.
Living is painful. It has been so for everyone, for every creature. Creature- created for what purpose? Does creation have a purpose? Or is it man looking for meaning in something that does not? Is existence just that?
I watch this metaphysical train of thought taking me from the darkness, chugging out hopefully into the light.
Maybe I should just sleep. The dream had materialised my disturbed thoughts. Disturbed since years. I think of sending this to you and wonder if you will understand. Is it my ego that wants to or my spasming heart or both, I wonder. As I write I have decided to let things be. And then I send.
I will watch me. I like it better that way.
Vineetha Mekkoth is a poet, writer, translator, editor, reviewer. She lives with her family in Calicut, Kerala. Works as State Tax Officer in the State GST Department. Has translated for the Kerala Sahitya Akademi and has also contributed articles for the Malayalam Literary Survey. Her poems and short stories have been included in various anthologies. She has been selected for the ICOP Critics Award for March 2015 by Destiny Poets, UK. She is co-editor and participating poet of the anthology Umbilical Chords: An Anthology on Parents Remembered' (2015). Her debut poetry collection ‘Ashtavakra and Other Poems' was published in 2017. Her book finds mention in the Highly Recommended list of The International Prime Poetry Festival, 2019 and is mentioned in The Journal of Commonwealth Literature. She has also co-edited and contributed to The Roseatte Sonnet Anthology, 2020. Her latest book, 'Penpiravi - Birth of A Woman', (Authorspress, New Delhi, 2021) is the translation of the contemporary Malayalam poet Girija Pathekkara's poetry collection. It has been chosen for the Reuel International Prize for Translation, 2022. Vineetha has also co-edited and contributed to the short story collection, 'Cocoon Stories: Imprints of Childhood' (Authorspress, New Delhi, 2022).