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Parallel Universe Through A Keyhole

Content Warning: Explicit Content


I was seven years old when I peeked through a keyhole

and saw the timid rug unearthing the flattened drops of blood

and tears of my mother.

Her down and out body wrapped in a ruddy red silk saree

perished with abuse and unrequited love

collapsing on the timid rug,

unearthing the flattened drops of blood and tears.

 

The next day, I saw her in the kitchen and dining area,

her hands stirring the omelette batter,

and her eloquent yet dreary eyes

distracted by the sound of her glass bangles, green and blue.

She seemed to know her ‘duty’,

Just how to follow the routine,

Just how to unfold the language of a life that she lived in a

Parallel universe.

 

That night, I waited for twilight and peeked through the keyhole again.

I saw her spirit breathing behind the bony enclosing wall of the chest,

rip-roaring the threads of the timid rug.

Her bangles bugged out of their shape to respire freedom

dissolved into the free-flowing winds, absorbing life.

 

Years have faded, today, in the parallel universe,

her body is an electric naked wire

saturated with beauty, strength and passion,

writing her destiny with millions of constellations

in the clear skies.

About the author

Nidhi is an ex-communication designer and she invigorates creativity to spin - off the original work she could aspire to.

 

 

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