Categories
Poetry

Mulberry Tales

By Kinjal Sethia

Mulberry Tales

A laundered hope- 
swinging the parental pendulum. 
From her clasp to him,
day leaps to dusk on the lake. 
A happy fatigue
scratches a smile. Brimming

with an ordinary pride-
being called parents. 
Her eyes turned 
away from the mountains.
He scans the mist,
an ice cream truck, a madari* 

for me. 

They laugh 
as I paint mulberry our world. 
The centre of their universe
is stained purple. 
White that she will scrub 
clean in the hotel room.

*Madari -- Juggler

Kinjal Sethia is a freelance writer-editor based in Pune. Her work has appeared in Nether Quarterly and EKL Review. She is the fiction editor at The Bombay Literary Magazine and is a part of the poetry community The Quarantine Train

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PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL

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