it was not to be the night when I lick my fingers,
you laughed at me, chortled at the way I spilled
everything on the canvas of the sky. a roundlet
of onion stuck in our conversation, our poetry.
I remind you of a pie you were to make for me,
and I worry today if I am an irksome ingredient,
like those peppercorns in your vadas that you
spit away saying you find them ground better,
but I am this whole, not a powder of intimacy,
I am a dripping stick-kulfi that coats desires,
I am the extra spice that burns your words,
I am just not a bullet in the index of the menu
that you skip over and come back to, because
I am affordable and easily available today, even
if I come out to be not what you really wanted.
after all,
it is not to to be the night when I lick my fingers,
invisible tears emerge on downtrodden cheeks,
painting colorless sky grey and blue. a julienne
of a fantasy is shattered, to become my poetry.
.
For dVerse Poetics.
Sad that it is all a fantasy. Nice blend of foods though. Would love to try that fritter sometime, even with peppercorns. Ha. And Indian ice cream – I am def intrigued. There is a story beyond the food play though that is quite emotional. Open, affordable – and yet, it is not to be.
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It’s great to see you. You have been missed. No, being on the affordable easy menu is not always the place to be. I like how you mixed all the food and emotions together. And how we do so want to be special to that person we desire…not just another bullet on the index as you say. Very honest and true this is.
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The ending is sad when the fantasy is shattered but I specially like this part (including native food) :
but I am this whole, not a powder of intimacy,
I am a dripping stick-kulfi that coats desires,
I am the extra spice that burns your words,
I am just not a bullet in the index of the menu
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I enjoyed the mentions of foods which are unfamiliar to me. To me their mention is beautiful as well as a bit mysterious. It is quite sad though to learn that the fantasy is shattered to become poetry.
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Poetically touching!
You’ve mixed a lot of imagery with fine ingredient of desire,
menus, and delicious food.
Love this poem very much from you. 🙂
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it is not to to be the night when I lick my fingers,
invisible tears emerge on downtrodden cheeks,
painting colorless sky grey and blue. a julienne
of a fantasy is shattered, to become my poetry.
Such moving and heartfelt lines.. beautifully written 🙂
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Anmol, this is excellent work, layered like a metaphoric casserole, dipping deep into emotional taste buds. Love can be a lying larcenous bitch until you get it right; & then it snaps all your chromosomes into alignment, unclogs the heart chambers, lightens both your load & your step. One day you might write about that peach with gossamer wings.
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I remind you of a pie you were to make for me,
and I worry today if I am an irksome ingredient,
like those peppercorns in your vadas that you
spit away saying you find them ground better,
that verse especially got me pretty blown away…
such a flawless mix of emotion and food. well done
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This is a very powerful and painful use of food imagery, HA! Nobody wishes to be the food others reject. As an aside, I particularly like kulfi.
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Nicely penned, it recalls me of a time when I visited some Indian friends and they served the food – and I said – “there’s no silverware… how do I eat ? “
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to me that sounds a bit like being in love with someone who doesn’t allow you to be who you are – who wants to have bits and pieces of you but not the whole package… painful
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Rejection.. You have written it so strongly using the food as metaphor, the spices with their burning harshness sound good though.. There is always some that love food..
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Quite a painful emotion there, that feeling of being ‘disposable’ to somebody else, or of them not accepting certain incovenient parts of you. But for others, this kind of ‘snacks’ are the best of all…
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WOWWWWW, this was so good, put mine to shame.
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From an early age people tell me i am trash.. not even trash.. as at least trash is given careful attention.. to go to a secure place.. i suppose with all that hate i could be a serial killer now.. after all.. i can look like the devil as well as an angel with an instant expression of this or that.. but NO.. Love is more powerful than bullies seeing thin little ugly boys.. with only eyes of feminine love and lashes.. LOVE IS inside me growing more powerful and powerful by the now.. then.. until it blinds the bullies with more light than they can stand
or fall so
they crawl
away in
darkness
and
i shine
in
dance
like
a frigging
‘Arnold’
ballet dancer
on the DRUG
OF
LOVE..
IT IS NOT often that
a poem brings tears to my
eyes but if people could see
the places i have been to they
will see more of what makes me
what i am.. the haters make me more
loving than anyone else.. the lesson of love
is tough
UNCONDITIONAL
LOVE FOR ME..:)
I AM AN ONION WITH EMPATHY PEELS
SO STRONG THAT NO ONE CAN UNRAVEL
THIS
ONION
OF
LOVE..:)
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Nice use of foods as metaphor.
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there are similarities between food and want…humger and satisfaction..you got right to the heart of it with this piece!
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Beautifully written. The food was a great metaphor. A lovely expression of a broken heart. It is a deflating dehumanising feeling when you are being used. It means you are worthless to that person.You deserve someone who appreciates and cherishes you !
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Lovely interpretation of the prompt. A sad piece, but very well written!
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