On the 9th, I was driving in a hurry from Jerusalem to Jerico, laden with kisses for you. A cop waved me down at the Bank junction at Aluva. Unnerved, the car hit something. All your kisses scattered on the road. My hands, legs, face and ***** blushed with gashes. My kisses for you lay around in the middle of the road. The orphan kids from Janaseva were picking them up. They packed them in their sling bags. A beggar woman who was passing by picked up one to smell it. College going kids make fun of my kisses for you. A cop tramples one of them with his boot. A pock marked tipper truck crushes it under its wheels. A procession agitating for drinking water marches past it. My kisses for you are strewn in the middle of the road and holler for the moistness of your lips. Covered in a sheet woven with wounds, I lie on a hospital bed. Lamenting 'my kisses, my kisses’, you catch a flight and land in Nedumbassery. You come to see me. In haste, you forget to buy me oranges.
I kept looking at you.
It was raining outside.
I looked at your lips.
Then, all the flowers in the front yard roll in laughter.
I look at your throat.
Then, a white dove takes off from a mango tree.
I look at your ears.
Then, a thrush flies off seeking its mother.
I look at your strands of hair.
Then, the plumeria leaves pick lice from each other.
I look at your eyes.
Then, the well in the court yard gives a missed call to the sea.
I look at your nose.
Then, the glare outside sketches the spring.
I look at your arm pits.
Outside, yellow woods sing a song.
I look at your *******.
Outside, bird’s eye chilies stand sharply *****.
I look at your cleavage.
A mother who bore six squats outside and coughs.
I at your navel.
Outside, a thousand bats.
I at your feet.
Then, a sweet gooseberry falls on the yard.
At knees.
At tender thighs...
Always
Always then
Outside, the drum beats of a road show grow in crescendo.
I trace pictures of our kids on your lips.
Then, in the middle of the road, the souls of kids crushed under wheels queue up with oranges to meet us.
When you and I wail without a sound, a slice from it falls on the ground. I make up a simile that tears are the slices of oranges that drop from the hands of those who have not had enough of loving. You give me one more kiss. I stash it away doubting whether you will be near when I die. Our kisses attack us asking us whether we will abandon them again. We lie on the hospital bed covered in wounds from the kisses. A bunch of angels come with syringes and bitter pills. We run away without paying the bill. Our kisses follow us like a procession of bare bodies with running noses. Unable to bear the sorrow, you hug them right on the highway. I buy a cigarette from the petty shop nearby and, puffing on it, watch you.
Translation : Ra Sha