A book moment


(On listening to Arundhati Roy reading from ” The god of small things“)

She poured her words

over a remembered ache

over wounds made by these very words

the first time I raced over their razor-like edges.

 

 

Holding my convictions firmly

as a cloak around me

-a feeble shield against the onslaught

lurking in between the pages of her book

falling deeper into the quagmires of passion

Holding fast to the raw, slippery edges

grazing my elbows as I tried my best to break

a free fall into the depths of a river

with a drowned moon.

 

 

Where familiar heartbreaks smiled from

within disturbingly, deep ripples…

And I lost the battle then

Surrendering my meager experiences

Drowning in the waters under which she sat writing

sucking me into her darkness

making me live the deaths, the madness and the bleeding life.

 

 

When she knifed through those scars again

I sat smiling with pleasure

hugging my secret wounds proudly

reveling in the re-awakening sensation

of my virgin read.

©Reena Prasad 11th Nov 2012

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