by FABIYAS M V
Pathu and a Python
It’s not a love that’s creeping in her sleep.
Though wounding kisses wake her up, her
worn-out body – an old Indian make – resists.
She grabs its head as it twists around her –
both are tough fighters – loser will lose life.
The fray on her floor doesn’t seem to end.
This snake coil isn’t as hard as cruel arms
that had wound her youth – as rough as the coir
ropes that had bound her wrists to an iron grill.
Bite marks appear as antique art on her
arched body – her rich mistress had made similar
adornment on her back with a hot metallic bar.
She had boiled her tender emotions in a kettle
in the kitchen. She had no other way, then, but
to live as a servant in a rich ranch house. Really,
she’d no roof over her life – an orphan’s always
exposed to the pain drops and memory light.
They are lying like two wrestlers on a torn mat.
Pathu’s yell goes out through the cracks in her
walls. Neighbors gather – enjoy the game –
indicate her heroism – take photos – share them on
Whats App and Facebook. Finally, they rescue her.
They unwind and leave the python in the nearby
wood amidst the hullabaloos. Stomachs of their
cell phone cameras are full. Since she has no
poisonous thoughts, she curls up in serenity again.
(Published in the latest issue of Shooter Literary Magazine, UK)