'Inseparable', 'Grief' and 'Sawdust Stuffing Stew' in Hakara, September 2019

So yes, terribly terribly terribly negligent and callous, I know. I have woefully neglected my poor blog. But I must keep this up, if for no-one else, for myself alone, because this is the only place I have a proper catalogue of all my published poems. 

So, the last post is February 2019 on the blog. I've had a bunch of publications after that beginning September 2019, so I'll put those up. 

Three Poems published in Hakara Journal in September 2019 follow below. Was glad to be published by Hakara! (Pune-Mumbai based journal) The link is here: Inseparable and Other Poems: Shruti Sareen - Hakara

Inseparable

You have grown
into me
you are part of me
your words are my words
your tones and gestures
my tones and gestures
the way you dress, is the way I dress
How do I separate
How do I escape from you now
without losing myself?

**

Grief

It is a thin, translucent lining
Wrapping itself around various
Organs. It forms the inner lining
Of the gut, of the colon, it covers
The limbs and the breasts. It thickens
Around the heart like a protecting wall.
At the corners of the eyes, it dissolves
Into tear drops. It pains at the joints,
like rheumatism. It is delicate
as spiderweb, and is easily perforated.
Sword-words are fatal. Dealt with such weapons
It shudders, shakes and violently trembles
Threatening to collapse and turn you into
Non-being. Even pin-prick words and
Hasty clumsy words can be fatal.
The membrane is fragile, and needs
Special care in a hospital. Rough and rude
Knocks produce agitations. The membrane
Of grief is tired of being perforated.
It wants a sterilized space to recuperate.
The membrane will become a wall.
The membrane will not allow
Perforations. The membrane
Will close into itself like a field
That lies fallow. The membrane will stop
Trying to interact with beings
In outer space. The membrane
Will preserve itself like pickle or jelly.
It will learn (regardless of the pain) the art
Of wearing masks, which come undone  
Only in solitude.

**

Sawdust  Stuffing Stew

And now that my insides
Have fallen out, leaving me
Quite hollow and empty
And vacant, I wonder
At the lack of me.
Now that pin-pricks have made me holey
And I have nowhere left to hide,
I burn under their gaze, submitting
Offering them faulty insides, which they
Then proceed to cut down to size.
There is nothing left to do, except
Stuff sawdust and stew. Sawdust
To fill my lopsided self , because sawdust
Is comfortably boring and unstimulating.
And then to slowly, very slowly stew,
In my own cooking oil and gummy glue
Waiting for the colour of the skies
To change.

Image courtesy: Steve Johnson, www.unsplash.com

Shruti Sareen is a published poet and writer based in Delhi. She has submitted a PhD on twenty first century feminist poetry at the University of Delhi.