Sunday, May 06, 2012

star struck

I am shy. My English is not that good you see.
Sometimes, I see you in the photograph of that magazine
I get houseflies in my belly

I stand on the balcony, playing with the end of my braid
It avoids the ends from cutting, ma says
And the coconut oil turns into ghee in them

The rowdy boys from the next dirty building
Once or twice, wave their hands at me or sing
But my eyes are stuck on you only

You never come to this city, they say
Because we are far from the train stop
But I have no river here for you to take the boat

The flowers are blooming big and orange
The curtains are smelling of orange flowers
And my eyes are dark from all the kohl

Then the burning smell; I left the rice on
Now it is sticking to the bottom of the pan
No food tonight even, but you are there no!

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