Miti

the way people thought we were one as we were growing up- like water and rock, as A puts it. You, solid. I, water. I ran over you, traversing where my heart drew me, getting caught up between narrow rocks, sprinting overgrowths and passing over sludge. You remained intact, waiting and always offering your concreteness to my roving soul.

BREAKFAST

A stainless steel tumbler
slightly out of shape,
slightly ridiculous, on a varnished table.
Seven-thirty in the morning,
chalk steam rising from sleep,
stretching out of its metallic bed,
yawning-standing tall,
to pull in cool gale
before stepping in the wind,
the speck of world behind it
trembling and transluscent.
Niveous cloud-
twisting, turning, sommersaulting, swaying vapour,
most delicate feather-
dispersing at my breath.
Constant change-
now a whirlpool,
now a flat white flora,
now an old woman with blowing hair,
now a white Oscar award.
Modern art-
careless brush taking a careless path,
moving, dissolving, disappearing,
dispersing at my breath,
as I bring the container to my lips.
Smooth white milk slides down my throat.
Maa, I feel your warm love flow in my veins.

(Smriti Jaiswal, 2002)