Certainly I never thought…

You’ve got two pills in your hand

Which one will you choose?

The one I gave you

When you were not

Even a thought, a sigh of

Your father’s breath

A tear of the page -I wrote

Your name on, later on,

Unwillingly so I did-

Back then,

A winkle had more life than you.

You still kicked your way through.

Maybe If I had stopped you then,

We wouldn’t be sitting here to

What it looks like the sight

Of a retreat at flashpoint.

Certainly I never thought

It will turn out like this.

Maybe I should have recognised

Behind the cripple’s smile …

Even then, when your hands were

Not bigger than a tea spoon

The deep brown

In your eyes matched

Those wooden boxes

That go steep down

To the bottoms

Six feet underground.

I should have recognised

Why you always wore

A pale moon of a face

As if the sun was

An uncomfortable

Contingency that never suited

You like the humours of

A despicable presence. 

So which one will you choose?

Remember, mine

I gave it to you only once

There cannot be a second time

Look, can’t you see? It’s all fine

Families still wave at the train

From a field of weed.

‘I can see bees, the bees!’ you say.

Have I made you so blind?

That you only see in my living 

Room orchids struggle

In the darkness as if it all

Had been my fault

All along.

You should really stop.

Poetry will never make

You wise, those are only

Strokes hanged on to

Their own blights,

Meant to die in the observers’

Eyes like momentary sighs …

The day bites and flies

And nothing looms

Or so you say.

The other pill. The other pill.

It smells of an inky black

Black. Black.

Don’t kiss it. It might

As well swallow you.

And you tell me,

How you will face the heavens.

They are not fond of

Those like you,

Used to silky long robes,

Most of you have

Never dug the ground.

That’s why your skin

Creeps under the sun

Like a lazy sound.

Even autumn foliage is

Tougher than you!

They might start to wander why

You left in the first place.

Wasn’t your home spacious enough,

Didn’t you have enough friends.

Didn’t you have enough free time
To mirror the camera
As if the camera was there
Only to mirror you.

I do not understand. I do not understand.

You are no more a daughter,
Than I ever was,
Youth is the metaphor of your name,
I have orchids, now, instead of a room
And even my living room is yours.

I should have sold you
To the first trader on the
Streets of Beelzebub.
At least he would have made
A soup out of you.
And I would not be sitting here
My knees hooked me to prayers.

I am the worst beggar, ain’t I?
And just because
I can’t open your fist
Don’t start saying
I am no good mother…
My pill was neither black
Nor humorous
And I used all the care.

No please don’t cry!
The other pill. The other pill is still there.
Your grab is too tight and
It has taken half of your nose
And your ears have already been sterilised.

Give it to me! Give it to me – I say
And insist. I will drink it through
Not you, if I only could…
Certainly I never thought
It will turn all out like this.