rites by karuna chandrashekar
Have you heard / I am breathing flowers in / I am a boy with his face peeping into the folds of his mother’s saree / Can he climb back in / Have you heard / a dandelion was massacred by the wind / when they carried my body by, my hair went wild / there I was, a corpse bride / Have you heard / I am spectral again / once I went to a funeral / no not mine / and there were weeping women in white / and red poinsettia flowers / I thought the difference would mean something / but it does not.
Have you heard / my mouth was once sewn to yours / we spoke in the same language / after all / what else is a ghost / but a hidden tongue? / Have you heard / Tagore / ‘It is better to die once / than every day’ / all day / as the sun stammers in / turning paper thin skin / into pale milk / wordless again /
Have your heard / death is only translation of matter / someone else is speaking now /