Towels with silky hands sweaty
hills and marshy logs. The reaction is the
same phlegmatic snorting.
It’s her sweat against his antics
He neither titters nor simpers
Her bill labours under a plethora of cakes
Anytime cards, toiletries, air time cards,
exotic designer wear and video cassettes.
Foggy and muzzy is the road to titillation.
Flighty and Frisky.
She feels marooned and invisible.
She sings him praises, but he rarely
smithers a smile. And verily he acts the
A coterie of critics find her fulsome.
She feels the hill and bill of betrayal.
Dashes to the glaring mirror.
Loathes a sight of a dear silly billy.
Does he take her for a silhouette of a scum?
Her island’s qualms plunge
into a series of recollections. Halcyon days were
courting days. Her phraseology was at variance
with a piece of platitude.
He smothered smiles and remarked of an astute
jester who took after his father.
She foots the bill as demands her heart.
Coldness floods her. Has is not come full circle?
Will it ever take off the ground?
Uneasiness unhinges the mind. With an air of
frigidity and rigidity he greets her the following days.
She feels dazed and dumped. Is it not to fritter away
time for a fisherman to keep on hurling the rod
into a fishless pool?
The smoldering war of reasoning rages:
To stay put or to steer out?
But the heart is steeped in love unyielding.
She recalls the jocular piece from a friend:
Grandma to grandpa,`The preacher said touch
the troublesome body parts that need some healing.
He didn’t say the prayer will bring to life
what departed long back! So remove your hand
before someone sees what a laughing stock you are!`
Grandpa yelps, `Oh ye of little faith!!'