So here is 'Anagapesis' which was published in The Literary Nest. I also have another poem 'Radhika' in Lakeview journal. Putting both of these below.
Anagapesis
They say that it
happens. Most of them
in their old
wisdom told me that it does.
That the cells
of the body lose the sense
of affection for
someone they once loved.
That one
unfeels. That passion turns to apathy.
Perhaps it is a
desired state. A happy state.
If apathy is
happy. Perhaps I could tell you
ten years later.
Make that twenty. If
anagapesis is
messy. If it bleeds. If it stops
halfway. Or if
it is a clean aseptic cut
that I can
anaesthetise. The cells of my body
don't really
believe in anagapesis. That a complete
lack of
affection can ever happen.
A-na-ga-pe-sis.
Long word. It is a difficult word
to remember. It
is easy to forget it. A-na-ga-pe-sis.
I am terribly
afraid of it. Perhaps, I secretly
don't even want
it to happen.
Link to 'Anagapesis' in The Literary Nest is here.
Radhika
Barbie dolls were just dolls but she was my live six
month old baby gifted by my aunt in America.
I begged my mother and aunty for old baby clothes to
dress her in.
In vain, I tried to neaten her short auburn hair
that wouldn’t be made.
She was always there at every game I played.
From age – to twenty two, yes I took her to college
too where they called her Chucky, my poor baby.
At home I tried to rescue her from a maid’s daughter
who drew inky designs on her face and a cousin brother who threw her and broke
her now re-stitched arm.
In later years, I tried to name the blue-eyed baby
Robin but it never stuck.
At twenty two, I gave her away. Now she stares back
at me with only one eye.
Every girl has her most precious baby and her most
precious doll.
Everyone has a childhood and mine is now surely
lost, as surely as the other blue eye.
Link to 'Radhika' in Lakeview Journal is here. The poem is on page 174 of this biannual international journal.
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