and I’m one of them
arguing with my father in despondent tunes
him saying: you’re nothing
like me my riposte: it’s for the best
and yet I’m surprisingly impressed
the way he can so utterly forget he was fuming
just the previous second
while I’m still dealing
with the consequences of the lyrics exchanged there is no cause
for reconciliation only the muggy haze of an overcast day
in a city near the shore where waters spray windows
and speakers bray Bollywood beats from terraces on Friday night
drowning any adorning banter
when behind my back someone
in a restaurant remarks— Pisces are the best kissers
“in the zodiac— and the sine wave of flesh drooping from my ear
prickles it desires cartilage I desire mileage
for my scooter affection for my body my chest a seismograph
when garlanded with your fingers tremors passing through ribs
ike lips through tense valleys of hips like shapes of sand spilling
on a road from a moving truck murmurations of the tiniest birds
breaking invisible on our car’s bonnet
on a long road trip for my sister’s wedding points of rupture
rearing again my father’s words unfazed ornaments
breaking my resolve: I don’t want any advice from you sudden lumps
in my throat acknowledging the stubbornness
of hard language in humid air as if that’s the polished fruit
whose cracked skull my teething voice emerged from
lots of lumps I stir in warm tea is it gauche to swish sugar
in the mouth when one trembles
from the want to please at any cost? oversaturation helps me
loathe my thawing throat ruptures allow me
to stay living behind my house a rupture in green a trunk blares
behind foliage a fugitive elephant that strayed from its herd
and crossed a river
to arrive here only to be attacked by firecrackers
only to be a casualty of sound and light
the herd inside the forest too smacked with hot light when shed leaves
from deciduous trees caught fires lit by poachers to distract
the wild ones into being hunted a drone blooms above the forest
like the only flower that remains uncharred reporting for our molten
eyes the travesty I’m jabbering about
there is still joy to be had after death after sifting through
the carcasses a forest officer dances during hailstorm showers
that doused some of the immediate rage rains hissing leaping flames
with smoky kisses
after learning of those who died and their endearing names
and those that moved into the critically endangered bracket
flashing on the breaking news,
you’d come to know that animals who managed to escape
the burning biosphere and reached neighboring villages
were turned down shelter
did they invoke fear when near? what language of communion
failed to fuse incongruent atoms
toward sustenance? If you say kindness
we will probably reach an impasse
a stalemate right here when my father refuses to shake
my hand and I move away like untraceable cloud on windy day
a lack of intimacy relieves the way a chapatti dipped in hot dal
bandages an achy mouth once in a gallery when I was ten
his fingers pointing at a screaming man’s twisted face
in a painting he instructed: stand here and keep looking
spend some time with the painting then tell me what you see
I stand
outside his clinic as the curtain covers and uncovers
in oscillation his steady hand examining a patient’s body
I slip into pubescent
meditation watch in the way a creation might glimpse
its creator muted colors of a portrait
quivering shrill tiny wavelengths of tenderness
I tried but couldn’t distinguish his calm
from my rage
Satya Dash is the recipient of the 2020 Srinivas Rayaprol Poetry Prize and a finalist for the 2020 Broken River Prize. His poems appear in Poet Lore, ANMLY, Waxwing, Rhino Poetry, Cincinnati Review, and Diagram, among others. Apart from having a degree in electronics from BITS Pilani-Goa, he has been a cricket commentator. He has been nominated previously for Pushcart, Best of the Net, Orison Anthology and Best New Poets. He grew up in Cuttack and now lives in Bangalore, India. He tweets at: @satya043.
