Stale Meat

It was really nice of Tuhina Ganguly to have sent me this poem she wrote for my blog. She is a dear friend – very cordial and humble. In my opinion these words of hers bespeak of a tension between acute aphasia on the one hand and easy volubility on the other- predicaments encountered invariably on so many occasions in life.  I quite enjoyed reading it. Hope to hear from you what you feel!


“You must wrest

my words from me

As if tugging

at a fisherman’s hook

lodged in the centre of my throat

Pull at it

as you would

a foetus the wrong way around

Blood gushes forth

gurgling like a tiny stream

splattering across your chest

hot and humid

but they are only words

my words against your chest

pulling out your hair

in tufts

No! Don’t scream

they are only words

running amok, piling high

crushing you under them

my words

my words

my words

my words, rotten

my words, fresh

my words, strawberry ice cream

my words, metal against fire

my words, salt, pepper, red, blue

my words, for you

my words, my life, my last breath

my death, my redemption

and the smell of stale meat

burning at my pyre, my words

those too”