My Brain On A Plate

By Poulami Ghosh

Here I place, my brain on a plate, for you.

It might not look very appetising

but, trust me, it has a blend of infinite flavours

only imaginable , never ,ever tasted before,

until now.

So, I sat one fine morning heavy with my brain.

Actually, I have been stewing it since a long, long time.

Stewing and stewing giving it the desired softness

otherwise to my “hard” brain.

So yes, coming back to it

I sat there churning and churning my stew-y, pudgy, gooey brain

into something pudgier and softer

almost water like, fluid, no form, maybe.

I could feel my ideas mixing, my memories going lucid,

my intellect growing into a definite form: a concrete -soft blob

of sparking ideas and plans.

There’s no present, nor the past or the future,

time cyclical, time infinite, time eternal,

In this heavy head, inside the skull, my brain,

ready.

My brain oozes out of my ears and nose and mouth.

I present a very ghastly picture, I agree,

but I cannot help it. I cannot keep it to myself.

My brain just sneaks out, I have no control.

So, I collect all of my brain from the floor.

Scrap it off my clothes and wash it off my hands.

Let me tell you but, it’s very difficult to wash it off your hands;

It kind of- sticks, forever.

Collecting all my brain, I put the pulp into a big bowl.

Not coz my brain is big, it’s just convenience.

I put my brain into it

add nothing to it and beat it.

Beat and beat it to a smooth consistency,

fluffy, forming peaks

It’s a nice bright red batter now.

Wait a second .. is it red or is it black?

Or do I see no or all the colours in it?

Forget it.

I thought I will bring it to you to bake it.

But why not give it a try myself?

I am sure I can bake my brains real good.

So I bake my brain in the inferno.

Poke it once in a while with Satan’s prong,

to check, to check if everything is holding together-

softly together.

Now, it’s out of the oven and in front of you.

The crust all brown with charred blood vessels,

and insides still red and raw, or black maybe.

Cooked to perfection. Oh yes.

This time I baked it

but next time I would fry.

And get a piece or two for you to try.

Till then relish this

maybe, or eat it all in one try.

By Poulami Ghosh