|
Bad Karma Girl |
A monsoon night,
the moon curls
into the seventh house.
You’re yanked like a weed,
cold and dead
for a few long seconds.
A howl fills you with dark water.
You burst,
holler a lung full of hurt.
They said, there is no
cure for bad luck.
They said, it is the will
of the planets.
They had the time
of your birth scribbled
on a dead scroll
like a life sentence.
You walk in the shadows
two steps behind the rest.
You bathe in the moonlight,
humming lullabies to the lilies.
You unleash the cumin,
color onions with saffron,
cajole the brinjals to
fornicate with the tamarind.
Talk of your wicked fry,
splatters across the bazaar
like mustard seed
on roiled oil.
Behind the kitchen curtain,
unseen like the soot,
you become
a legend of no one.
copyright 2005
Ro
Gunetilleke |
