Tumours on my Chest Tear drops, popcorn, kidney peas, red ants collectively navigating through a complex quarry, a fable of sequins, or say like the child with knotted limbs who couldn’t make it till dawn break. Is it vitriolic? Not like the toothache that barges in when we are mid-flight into our dirty deeds, but like the cramps on arcane purple mornings when you are buried in deep sleep. Will they appear again? You mean like the hairs on my bald terrain? Theory says yes like uneasy questions searching for meaning I hope this time they are photogenic. Robot Mom No girly time but a relic of disenfranchised relationship. She weaves the worn-out pillowcase with my butchered dreams, ignites the chipped tile fireplace with paper-cuts from my Origamis she wouldn’t let my art…
“Tumours on My Chest” —Poems of Anindita Sarkar
