Mother or Me?
Kill me slowly,
Under the burden of those dishes
I hear them clinking in my sleep.
Smile, smile more,
The silence engulfing the heat.
A strange stench A murder?
That is what has happened.
My room spits the aura.
I cry and cry and cry,
It's the onions.
The smell mixed with the air-conditioner.
I lay motionless under the burden of books.
Hair scattered on my white floor,
I collect them like grades,
Only to sweep them out in one sweep
On some fine sunny day.
Stomach grumbles in a dark room,
God haven't I had a meal 8 hrs ago?
What is this?
I get up, yet to prepare another meal
Another cut from the paper on my leg
One more scar to count.
I'm happy until I'm not,
I smile until I'm asked to
How much more to struggle?
I cough. Is this how my mother has
been feeling for the past years?
_
Riya Gupta, a literature major, is an over-enthusiastic person who loves to travel, make art and meet new people. 'I thrive on putting myself out there, travelling solo, exploring places and soaking in their history. Reality is my favourite genre to read and write about!'