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.
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