I imagine the wind undressing me,
Black clouds forming lead buttons.
One by one,
they come off,
as the music plays
in a quite peculiar fashion.
The old, black Tv looks like a dumb box
My mother feeding me rice balls
The smell of masala dosa
Arising and landing into my nostrils,
Rancid lake-water from grandmother’s house
The smell of fevi-quick. Acetone. Nail polish.
Coffee. Roast and warm. Home.
The way my house smelt like
Maybe like two old butts stuck together for ages.
I don’t know what i am saying.
It’s quite hazy with all the cold wind blowing
Or is it a dashing forty- five degrees?
Origami finds order
But only creases and folds
reach my heart.
I find myself
huddled in a corner
dressed in a black suit
the white stain.