Lying on the beach
Surrounded by murmurs
Of conversation
Children laughing at play
And the soft rustle above
Of heart-shaped leaves
Dancing in a brisk breeze.

All once familiar
Yet now foreign,
It occurs to me ,
That I no longer fit,
Have ceased belonging
In that comfortable way
Of former times
When you loved me

I no longer fit
In the world of couples
Though they kindly try
To include me
If only occasionally
It just isn't the same
Any longer

Feeling fragmented
I dole out bits of myself
Almost stingily
Guarding carefully
My inmost thoughts
Smiling as if all is
As it should be
But it isn't
And maybe never was

When you were here
I felt safe and whole
For the first time ever
Secure, wanted, needed
Now I am a puzzle piece
Of an odd shape
That no longer fits
In the larger scheme
Of humanity

Perhaps I have lived
All these years
In a mindset
Of childish fantasies
Now suddenly dashed
Like letting go unwillingly
Of Santa and the Easter Bunny
Maybe this is Life
Seen without benefit
Of rose-colored glasses
Maybe, maybe not

Eileen Auger

One Sunday
On one of our many births  
We
must become the Pappa and Mamma
of an ancient Nazrani tharavadu.

I will go in the morning
And return with
A kilo of beef  meat
With bones
Two kilos of tapioca
And may be also a *** of toddy
From the toddy tapper.

While I slice the meat
You will crush the coconut mix
In the grinding stone.

I will come, now and then,
And wipe my face
In the chatta and mundu
Draped folds of yours.

Go away you shameless man
You will dub  
The slogan of a coy mistress.
Meanwhile
I’ll drum quick rhythms  
On your buttocks
Graced
With pleats.

The kids will see
You’ll repudiate, with your eyes

With the sun
Our bodies also will get warmer
Drops of sweat
Will make studs
On your
Nose.
With the fold of
My chequered mundu
I will wipe them off.

The sun will grow warmer
The toddy inside
Will simmer
In our bodies
An insatiable hunger will torment.

The aroma of
The beef curry with the coconut mix
That you cooked
Will drift into my nose.
Unable to control the craving
I will pick
Tapioca pieces from it and eat.
The hot bits will smolder my tongue.

“You Glutton”  
You will then
Whisper to my ears

By the time I wash my hands and sit
Calling out to the kids
And you, to come for lunch
The 12.30 bell will ring in the church.

From that unexpected
Sunday
Which we spent
Stingily
We will set aside
Some memories
for the next creation.



**Trans: Shyma P

It's a mystery to note
that despite how advanced in age we are
still we earnestly strive to survive, preserve
at all costs this physical entity

My sister, Vivien and I
watched vicariously
as our 91 year old Father
tubes plugged in every orifice and cavity
sat gripping the edge of his hospital bed
gasping for air

We didn't know it then, but he was suffering
a mild heart attack
mentally, tenderly we massaged
his Spirit with prayers

I thought to myself
how difficult it is to convince yourself
that you are not this body
while warm blood and passions rush
through veins and brick by brick
from birth we carefully construct,
insulate, protect, pamper and cater to
the whims and demands of this
terra firma

I stared numbly as hospital staff
wheeled Dad away for further tests
Emergency room visits were
fast becoming a regular ritual
Intravenous bags hang
heavy black nimbus clouds
stingily dispensing one last drop of mortality

my heart a stone sinking in my chest
plummeted with a thud into a bottomless
inky pool
so many poignant, familial memories
rowing merrily across the paper thin
surface of Life's fragile dream

I could sense my mother's intangible presence
close by  
soft brown sepia eyes gazing tenderly
through the partially drawn diaphanous veils
chariots swinging low

father's condition is stable now
though they released him for the holidays
the appellation, "Comeback Charlie"
our nickname for his extraordinary
resilience and vigor
didn't have quite the same ring
something missing, that spark, stolen
reflected in hollow, vacant
jack-o-lantern eyes

I prayed as we prepared a tropical
fruit basket to cheer him up
that he would clearly see
an Angel not a thief
standing eternally by his side

Do I still love you? With every harsh rejection, every brutal truth you offered, every single time that you kept yourself stingily from me, I forgave you in a single breath. No one understood how I could endure, least of all you. You tried your damnedest to keep that wall up. But I refuse to be labeled as "just another one" locked away and hidden in some secret file. You're going to remember me as the girl who loved you the most. Even in your despicable moments, I never gave up. I never walked away. Through your disappearing acts, your hurtful words, your avoidance of serious topics, your ****** fantasies. I kept my rare, fondest memories of your softer self. I just kept smiling through the trials knowing that this was the dark side you let guard you. And that if I dug deep enough, I'd find your warm smile and carefree laughter to set them free again.

I do not cringe upon hearing or reading your name. Instead, I whisper softly, tenderly, "I love you, Barrett."

I do not avoid places where we might converge. Instead, I look for you in crowded spaces for the chance to see your face.

I do not curse you and wish you karmic revenge. Instead, I wish for you nothing less than love and inner peace.

Do I still love you?
The answer is always the same.
I love you for reasons you could not possibly conceive.

There was once a light bulb
That illuminated the room.

Its voltage tore through my skin,
But I smiled through the searing pain.

Time wore it down
Because He gripped too tightly-
And it began to flicker.

It would grace me with its lovely presence,
Stingily and briefly,
Then drape me in darkness the next moment.

The intervals graduated and distanced.

I was beginning to think that I would never see the light again.

Then the day came
When the light bulb consumed itself whole,
Along with all the light that it brought.

I was right,
But I did not want to be.

tragic queen Elyssa, foundress
of Carthage. Her brother, Pygmalion
slew her husband, the chief priest
Acharbas and in the uproar fled
with Tyrian nobles, bearing gold 
on a fleet of Phoenician ships.

Then on Mauritanian coastline
she bought some land to build 
a new city-state, from the vantage
of Byrsa on which her citadel stands
'circumfenced' by strips of ox-hide
strung along the perimeter of the hill

The Berber chieftain rather stingily
offered as much land as an ox-hide
could cover and later on sought her 
hand in marriage as the city grew
in wealth and regional importance
but she threw herself into flames

of a priestly funeral pyre to Tanit,
in self-immolation for the dead
god of vegetation, Adonis-Eshmun;
Dido, as she was known, hence was
elevated to goddess and patroness
of that great Punic realm of Carthage