By Chandni Santosh
The day we returned from the mulberry tree,
You bought me a pair of gold anklets,
With the thirteenth symphony set inside,
The symphony of sadness.
When l walked,
I carried the weight of those days on my ankles,
And the river in my eyes,
Threatening to flood at times.
You sat me on your lap,
Dressed me in your favourite shirt,
Red prints on black,
Holding a wide mouthed glass of whisky,
With the ice cubes making
Gurgling sounds. Tinkling.
Your smoke swirls on my shoulder,
And the anklets melt on each other,
I sip at times from your glass,
Tell me where you buried
The child. You hide your face in my harassed hair,
Blow the blue smoke into its strands.
The lights have been switched off,
Only the night light pours in through the gauzy curtains,
Tell me. You clink the glass and blow the smoke
Into my hair, my mouth.
The mulberry tree is the marker. After l leave,
Do not sit under any mulberry tree.
There is a light cardboard coffin
Buried beneath it.
Chandini Santosh is a novelist, poet and painter. Her poems have been published widely in solo collections, journals, anthologies and magazines. Her third novel, `Blood Brothers` is ready for release.
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One reply on “Mulberry Tree”
This poem strikes a sad note …
The story told in its fullest truth….but yes in its utmost poetical manner. Superb….
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