Smells, Sounds And Sights On The Morning Of An English Exam

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