Poems by Jayashri K

Itch

a poem by

Jayashri K

I scratch myself.
An itch,
That stems from the heart,
And spreads until,
My skin pares.
I feel my bones
And file at them
With an emery board
Of memories.
Dust.

A chance wind.
I Rise again.
Swirling in the air,
Settle down.
A potter’s hands
Kneading,
Her fingers coaxing,
Promising shape.
Burnt in a kiln
I am a vessel.

Coals in my self,
Providing warmth
Burning every moment
Embracing the heat.
Held by the son,
Harbinger of freedom
From life’s funeral pyre.

Broken in a moment,
Stamped underfoot,
Clinging to the flesh,
Desperate for life.
Nestling in a crack,
Just when the journey
Seemed to end,
The beginning of an itch.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Coma

a poem by

Jayashri K

Memories congealed
Sensations numb, pulsing veins
Deny life and death.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Suture

a poem by

Jayashri K

I finger the suture
That knits my wound
And feel the twinge
Of sweet pain,
Of longings unfulfilled
That lie coiled beneath
My skin.

It slithers against my touch
Twisting in self-defence.
Raises its hood
And bares its fangs
Defying my probes
Defending its ground

I play the pipe of memories
And it bows its head
In graceful accession
I reach out to grasp it-
A rope that rises
Towards the skies

Calloused palms
Numb fingers
Climbing steadily
Towards oblivion

A sudden jerk
And the rope falls.
I plunge,
Back to the present

Warm blood seeps out
Colours the suture with life
Opens the crevice

I drown in the pain,
I clutch at a string,
The suture that knits
Together the banks
Of my river of dreams

A tug at the two ends,
A healing that begins
But leaves behind
An itch.

I finger the suture
That knits my wound…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~