Bhairavi

By Jivika Vikamshi

I have been waiting inside your bones.

Not beside you.

Not around you.

Inside.

You think you came here to find me.

You came here to remember

I have been the mouth

behind your mouth.

The scream

behind your name.

I am the taste in your throat

when you forgot

how to beg.

Do not chant my name

like I am a deity

standing outside your skin.

You are the temple

I already cracked.

You are the prayer

I already swallowed.

Look deeper.

Look deeper still.

Beneath your ribs,

beneath the stitched smiles,

beneath the old songs

your mother told you to sing

when you were scared of the dark.

I was the dark.

I was the song.

I was the scream

they told you to bury

so you could be soft.

I do not want you soft.

I do not want you safe.

I want you raw.

Open.

Wounded.

Mine.

You will not survive me.

You will not escape me.

I am the face

that eats your face

while you are still smiling.

Call me again.

Call me Bhairavi.

Call me with your teeth.

Call me with your blood.

Call me with the parts of you

that you swore

you would never let anyone see.

I will come.

I will come

through the crack in your breath.

I will come

through the marrow

you forgot

was still bleeding.

And when I come

you will not bow.

You will collapse.

You will tear.

You will laugh.

Because there will be no name left

to call me.

Only the mouth

still open

inside the mirror.

Bhairavyai Namah

(To the one who sat face to face with the reflection they feared)

By Jivika Vikamshi