senses: taste

Roasted words on my tongue taste of

Pepper, salt, chili

You

I cook them up in agony and blend it

Under my tongue, mixed with the saliva

Leaving specks of cubes stuck in my teeth

The same way I can’t rid myself

Of you

And the chai that I sip through after

Weeping in startled dreams all night long

To rise to the monsoon droplets on the window

Burns through the tongue

As my tongue burnt yours that night

When I spoke.

Now, I cook. I cook

I imitate recipes from all over the internet

My fingers cut from the sharp knifes

I mix in spices and herbs and cheeses

Cook meat over hot grills

But most often I find myself

Remembering the taste of you

And trying to plate it

I would eat with messy hands

What comes instead is the bitterness

The char of my words seared with blackness.

Your taste, I can’t recreate

My tongue refuses to recognise any other.

.

[Side note – I started a food blog: khanapalette.wordpress.com.]

senses: smell

She sells antipathy in every joint she rolls
When she walked over to the end of the street and entered the little store
Eyes raking for some barbeque sauce but the nose
Detected the marijuana
At the tip of her fingers was wrapped a wad of cash
(Earned by explosion)
Just happened to slip by to hold onto something much more rejuvenating
To her
To her senses
To her repugnance
The stale hot air resonated a shrillness coming from her heart
Repititiveness brought not the hair on the nape
To lay still
As she got to that which she was hooked
A conscious decision, a cruel nook
Back home she threw the plastic of jewels
So careless in her stride
Her home – a dump of invaluables
Herself being one voiced her pride
There was a stench of misery and hatred underlying what poverty cost
Her anger was directed to a calm that bust
She brought out the necessities the room had witnessed
Haphazard ingredients cooked to set alight
The fire inside her
Surrounding her
A miasma so pungent and distant
From what happiness smells of
The scrunched weed reached inside the nails of a hand she commanded
And the first puff she took exhaled destruction in the air
Screaming, you motherfucker
An idea it was so ludicrous to believe
That enmity had begotten even more from her
That smoke emitted charges
Desperate in the face of hope
But she continued living on the very smoke
That made her nose numb to all
But marijuana
And him
Her escape was not addiction but freedom from the stench
Of the air the greens spread
Right outside the window that won’t budge, jammed in
So maybe, life was a blunder
She chose to smoke with
Cursing without chagrin

senses: voice

I called your name out loud so many times
I called your mobile, your landline, even your grandmother’s, such was my plight
A name I’d found a home in – a big bed, two toothbrushes, some macaroons, two hearts
I’d screwed up, big time; I am stupid, so stupid
To hurt you, to make you cry – hell, you cared so much to have cried at my sins

I called your name when I saw you at the metro station
To say a quick hello, slow goodbye
You recognised my voice, my heart, and you ignored it: why wouldn’t you
I’d hurt you, and I’m so sorry
The next time, I waited for you outside your class for two long hours
I called your name with every shred of hope in me left after the barren sun’s caprice, the guard’s malice, the street callous
You saw me, and I swear I saw surprise in your eyes
But you walked ahead, talking of neurotic tendencies
Intended brushes, here and there, to get you to understand
The depth behind my apology
The maple syrup and honesty in my voice as I spoke your name
The night I first met you, I rehearsed that very name, a wide smile gracing my uncouth face every time I would whisper it
And you told me later, ‘no rehearsal, you perfect it’
If i wasnt lying, I’d tell you right now
Your name sings on my tongue like it never has before, like it never will again, and with it, now,
Is attached
I am sorry, I am so sorry
I waited in front of your class, day after day, and stood in front of that very guard,
Communicating with the piercing sun
All I did was ask for forgiveness
I called your name as you laughed at the festival
I called your name while you drank with your friends
I called your name as you collected your tea
I called your name as you bit on your dessert
I called your name as you read your poetry
I called your name as you hummed Linkin Park
I called your name all the time
I made a mistake, but seeking your eyes, every time I call your name
Drenches me
Livens me
And yesterday
You reacted: an year of stopping you, you paused for me
And you beheld, ‘stop,’
And your eyes beheld, ‘please,’
And your hands beheld, ‘this hurts,’
And i called your name
But it died on my tongue.