Post Dinner Recipe

The wounds pickled on mind of childhood Those hot spicy fierce masculine words Threshing off feminine smile, pleasure A shredding groan sounded in the name of the lady Tearing off the calmness and peace of night and family too. The salty sob engulfed grief and voice too in sari Tightened lips, bursting nostrils Misty foggy two pools of sea in eyes- an abundance and not river which flows down with fresh water-------- It could not be called violence still something was dying bit by bit for sure a caterpillar which was in its cocoon safe and sound was listening – watching through half open door never knew what was cooking in this post dinner recipe gradually it became butterfly still the salty sour scar on its beautiful wings.