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•   A BIANNUAL LITERARY MAGAZINE BROUGHT TO YOU BY DESI WRITERS' LOUNGE   •

Volume 8


Forbidden - July 2011


Verse

Written by
Eshal Saleem

On Eshal, a review: Clarissa Dalloway meets the twitchy witchy girl in the often confused, often endearing narrative following the misadventures of one Eshal Saleem. Freedom songs, flights of fancy and foolhardy notions preoccupy the minds of this (self-proclaimed) ‘prodigal’ pastel prima donna, as she attempts to versify the mundane into the extraordinary. Her illicit tryst with a pen and paper lead to her (more often than not) falling flat on her face, though. Recommended for pure guilty pleasure and a sometimes absorbing read. Three stars out of five. Rated PG-13 for inappropriate material.

        
      
       
            
              

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Milk


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i planted

a fistful

of

threadlike tresses

split ends and swan songs

and in this

bone orchard

may they sprout

an

obedient daughter

from the womb of an earth

soiled saffron

a proper

daughter.

when your lips press against her cheek

what will she taste like -

blackberry flavored with copper

some salt,

perhaps,

from the oceans I have carried

within eyes that could never be

the right shade of brown

she will have drunk

the milk of my suffering

i wonder then,

will you scratch

clean its blackened

residue

from her chin, her mouth

her everywhere;

ten years of

salem witch trials, convictions

executions;

as swiftly as you unmade me –

will you notice

the lump

on her left breast –

the cancer

of four-post pillage

that ate my spirit whole

no

you will dress her up

and send her back

to the man who will play

mandolin

with your hand-me-down

every night as you

sip your chai and

listen to Gulzar’s poetry

and other pretty things

on the radio.

i will have stolen her voice

so you will not

hear of

his tone-deaf odyssey

silence will replace

slaughter

so prop your feet up,

and still your heart,

mother

your work here is done.

‘a few witches burning gets a little toasty here

i gotta find, find, find

why you always go, when the wind blows’

Tori Amos, ‘God’

 

 

 

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