Home calls me often and when I had saved up enough, I ran away from the country that poisoned my countryside. Because the glory of my country lies in my vagina. I heard they stick rags dipped in petroleum in your vaginas too. Before they grope you from behind, pin you down and rape you. I was a grown woman in a seedy state college in the US. Maybe they knew I would come looking for them once their souls departed. I would etch these words on the graves of all great men. If fear drove us to war, then let me say, we are all cowards.
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He would take me to our remaining fields, fields where Ghosts stood in full combat suits. Mother would cry and hug him, but he would not indulge in any emotions. He became reclusive and there was hate in his eyes. He came once, his hair cropped short and with a zillion scars on his body. I don’t know when or why but Father just disappeared. I would sometimes sew the flowers into a garland for Mother.Īll this seemed centuries ago. During the summers, it would be hanashoubus, bright white ones with purple speckles. He would shower me with kisses and bring me a fist full of bright yellow nanohanas. And I would scamper around, hopping and exhausting him. Grandfather would take me through our fields, even at night time. Mother would go to the kitchen and bang pots, pans and shriek absurdities and Father would go to the only other room we had apart from the kitchen and sink into the bed. Me, playing with the frayed collar of Grandfather’s shirt. Uff…such pressure.įather would beat Mother and then Grandfather would come, stand between the squabbling couple, carrying me. He came home empty handed and Mother would pester him for food, for money- for all the things he couldn’t provide despite being the ‘man’ of the family. With big machines, fancy guns and weird paraphernalia. I don’t know what he did, but we used to grow food earlier and then They came. He was an irascible man.Īctually now I feel pity for my Mother that she never understood how vulnerable Father was. She didn’t know when he would blow up next. She was always scared whenever Father was around. What resulted was a black and white picture of me, a lump of lard on my Grandfather’s lap. It was a hand-me-down because Father was not rich enough to buy me one in silk, but I was too young to care. I was dressed in a rather gaudy red furisode, reasonably soft but mostly odd. That gentle reprimand was enough to make me stop playing with the flowers on my hair. “Sayuri”, my Grandfather called out, “Don’t fidget, dear! Just sit still for a second darling.” There’s heads, tails and the third side of the coin The world, deeper than the Yin-Yang layer The cat, who is alive, dead or even a bear There’s heads, tails the rest I don’t care Get used to it, life’s neither fair nor unfair We all have files, we want to delete We are all ashamed, but what for No one’s fair, we all cheat Life’s a casino, can never be sure No continuum, it’s all discrete All’s corrupted, nothing pure Why is it always true or false, good or bad, real or fakeĮvery victory is a defeat Every success, a step to failure
It is always either the ocean or the mountain, why not the lake There is plenty to offer and waste, but nothing to take The world is crumbling out here, but nothing’s at stake Shattered, broken and hungry yet the happiest I’ve ever been
I feel dead, tired and suffocated yet it feels peaceful & pristine Instead, I find myself, covered in a mist never seen There’s plenty out there Nicotine, Heroin, Morphine People succumb to heartaches and drug overdose In this mighty civilization, pillared by yes’ and no’s In this world of ones and zeros, highs and lowsĮverybody is sailing away, to what nobody knows
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