The Apparition of Children

“Carnation dreams under golden sheets; hibiscus sleep on pillowcases,
The pinpricks of daylight streaming in; the dusty trail of golden beams,
The springy dance and sway of the tulips in flower pots; the humming bees,
The green-skinned coconuts seized in a net, the eyelets on quivering buttery wings.
Hanging onto the rope of life- of dreams; the fraying threads of childhood hopes,
The hollow abyss of the unknown, undecided and bohemian life terrifies you.
The recurring nightmares; the wearisome trudge home and the kindness of strangers,
Iced tea and chilli noodles; low lights and awkward conversations – you’re too young to give up,
they said.
Hoops on jeans; the booming hypocritical laughter and drab-looking outfits,
The ivory statues- constructed with my incarnadine hands and scarred ideals,
The statues of talent and creativity- gawked at and occasionally, a graffiti of parody.
What’s the use of breaking them for breathing space?
What are you left with? Shattered pieces of yourself.
Polished white rooms; the clack of heels and the artwork of self-annihilation,
The pictures elude the capture of my imagination; the crumbs of lethargy,
A clandestine affair with women, Cheshire grins and silver lockets.
I tucked a piece of paper with Emily Dickinson’s poem under her pillow,
I pointed out Virginia Woolf’s lovers to her- Mary Hutchinson, Vita Sackville-West etc etc
The Olympics of flirtation, the sharp-nailed touch and awaiting justice.
All my great poems are rewritings of an assault- spinning heads and erupting vulnerability.
The haunting touches of men, the tightening throats, the hoarse intake of breath.
Metal against skin- lips against skin- teeth against skin- acid on skin,
Skin: a cinema of misuse and sexuality; too much of it is too much- too little of it is too little,
Tracing the cracks on glass panes back to that pivotal moment of devastation.
Head between my knees, anger flaring in my chest, a knife cutting into my palms.
A forgotten survivor; the vengeance of yesterday sour on my tongue,
A language of greed stained my body; the bearded mouths sipping whiskey,
Pantsuits and golden rings, a girl with a blood-tipped bat and the world surges into mayhem.
Girlhood’s wrath on premature molestation.
A split peach and a doll in a pink dress discarded in an alley.

Reluctant fingers coiled around a gun- fear, my son, is man’s greatest enemy!
Shots fired on an autumn night and the apparition of children dissipates into the frost-bitten air.”

ABOUT

SK Meenakshi is an undergraduate student pursuing a degree in BA English Honours at Kristu Jayanti College, India. She has published a poetry collection titled, “Shades of Solitude.” She is an avid reader and an aspiring writer. You can find her on LinkedIn.