By Nivedita
The Library
I sit in front of the Waukesha Public Library
staring at the staircase
I spent mornings on it,
munching my half-burnt breakfast, hurriedly.
The quicker I ate.
The less burnt it felt.
The racks of books were my company
during bored afternoons and sunny evenings.
In Wisconsin,
the sun set at 8 pm during summers.
The warmth of the chairs
where book readers and homeless
book lovers fell asleep,
with their mouth wide open,
exposing the gaps between their teeth.
The library was a Meccah for nerdy students
The walls with paintings gave them solace.
No body judged them here.
The guitar town was a refuge for thoughts
and a cradle for whims.
The Sikh Boy
/an ode to the centenary anniversary of Jallianwala Bagh massacre/
The banner of summer sun and the call of cuckoos wrapped the little Sikh boy,
let's call him Little S, and his sister who were playing chuppam chupai.
Little S hid behind the turbaned man with broad, strong shoulders.
Sister came closer and he stealthily ambled towards the nagara man.
he played the dhol with vigour every Baisakhi.
But today was a different day.
The nagara man and the other elders sat around the dry well
wearing a solemn smile.
The long sturdy wooden doors opened.
Hoards of men with knives and guns entered.
Little S's eyes widened but he knelt behind the nagara man.
He watched his own kin fall with bloodied chest and arms.
A gory version of chuppam chupai unfolded in front of his button eyes.
He froze.
Suddenly a pair of strong arms picked him and ran towards the dry well:
his last hideout.
Notes
nagara, dhol – drum-based instruments
chuppam chupai – a game of hide-and-seek
The jewel
The frothy clouds carry a jewel in its womb
like a pearl in a shell in the coral basin.
You cannot own that jewel in the sky.
So, you take a boat, wear sunglasses and row around the sea—
A tanned bony man with a white cloth tied around his head
Will display the colorful pearls from shells—
he’d dispute over its authenticity
till you nod in agreement.
You come home, pick the pearl, hold it against the sky and
the turmeric crescent moon peeps out—
contesting it.
Nivedita is a quintessential Hyderabadi who loves Sulaimani chai and Colombian coffee alike. She enjoys writing poetry and occasionally writes stories. Her stories have been published in a few noted publications like Annapurna, Milwaukee’s Annual Anthology and her poems have found place in The Sunflower Collective, The Taj Mahal Review, Words and Weavers (featured poet -2015-2016, Third place - 2019). She blogs at: verbaltickles.blogspot.com.