By Averi Saha
The ring on the fourth finger
Is supposed to tug at your heart strings.
Initially, it served its purpose well.
The day it slid into my life,
The diamond dazzled in ecstasy,
The metal danced in circles
With every milestone we touched.
Over years, with dishwash and promises
Running down the drain,
The lack-lustre lonely thing,
Trembling with the responsibility
Of its most precious jewel,
Disfigured the very throne it sat on.
Growing stiff and refusing to budge.
It dug into my soul for the flesh around it
Began to swell and
I writhed to fit my ring.
As I walk the shoreline now,
My fingers thin and bare,
The ring sitting uneasily
In its box,
Elliptically sulks at me.
Not only has its noose tapered
My ring-lady at the base,
The flat oval of my stubby finger
Has, for ever,
Altered its rounded face.
Averi Saha is an academic, critic and translator. She teaches in a college in West Bengal and works on folk literature. She has published academic papers, translations and original poems.
.
PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL
Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles
Click here to access Monalisa No Longer Smiles on Amazon International
Borderless 