By Indira Penubolu
I myself am far removed,
Lost somewhere on Ithacan isles.
Being tossed about,
amidst pirate ships
When kitchen smells make me cough…
As Hecuba has the last laugh.
The pressure cooker hisses,
As Lot’s Wife blows goodbye kisses,
To her beloved city,
Remaining the least of our losses.
Water gurgles down the drain
As a Jew complains
Of prophecies that bind,
Of Auschwitz and trains.
The seasoning sputters
Red chilli and garlic;
Pungent, Curry leaf and mustard,
As books are burnt
And the worthier ones ignored.
Into the kitchen I peep.
Steam rises in heaps.
Around the pan hungry flames leap,
As a lover, for his lost beloved weeps.
The deed is done.
The war has been fought-
Lost and won,
Bodies in shattered glass bloodied,
While the dishes are with clear water cleansed…
The rest I leave in choice.
The food is a feast,
I fill my plate.
(My palate is pleased)
Its time to take the test,
To reveal: to print the slate.
( I hope I don’t regret)
By Indira Penubolu
Very touching layers of meaning in the poem.
Wow. Lovely imagery.
Amazing poetry
Vivid imagery
Each stanza presents vivid imagery adding layers of meaning. Lovely indu 👏