On My Bed

On my bed, you will find,

A thousand words, a thousand thoughts.

A half-eaten cookie, consumed on the day

I lost my pet,

The cookie eaten in absolute frustration and dismay-

And then put under my pillow,

Tucked away safe.

 

A half-burnt cigarette

Kept from the day he left me;

And then went on to stump the cigarette with his feet,

Just like he had stumped me.

This is what you will find on my bed.

 

On my bed, you will find-

Tampons stuck on, one on one;

In a dirty pile, for that time of the month,

When the womb bleeds and reminds of its cold existence.

 

On my bed, there are letters,

Written to some old lover-

Without an address to deliver.

And the pile of letters add on, just like the pile of lovers.

 

On my bed, honestly, you will find,

The trousers of my favourite lover

And I bask in the smell they emanate

And hook on to the memories they left.

 

On my bed, you will find the bandage I kept,

From the time I was raped and knifed

And my body bled.

 

On my bed, you will find clothes- of an infant-

Of a girl actually-

For my first child.

Clothes that I had purchased on my 18^th Birthday –

For her.

But she was flushed down-

Hence her clothes remain.

 

On my bed,

You will find, a bottle of gasoline.

That I sometimes resort to-

And then close the lid in morbid fear-

For gasoline has power to burn my dreams;

 

Lastly, you will find,

Bits and pieces of my soul-

And a full grown body, with parts dissected and organs sold-

Yet, dreams intact and untold.

 

And these are the antiquities that my bed gathers,

As the years roll by-

Lifeless, inanimate objects of desire, pain and battle-

The only object that my bed does not gather-

Is my living object of desire.

My hopes and dreams infused in a box,

And weaved in a garment,

And that is your living body,

 

My darling lover.