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Chains of Silk by Seshadri Veeraraghavan The marble floor is colder than the corpse of her dignity; her reflection slippery and smooth, like skin covered in sandalwood paste. She smiles. Attendants apply turmeric and honey to her feet, adorn her forehead with a blessing of vermilion. A bee hums a song of lost hopes and plundered homes, she closes kohled eyes to enjoy Raga Darbari. Tonight she is a firefly caught in a vespertine net of jasmine and marigold, her escape the dream of caged parrots that feed on pomegranate seeds. She dances; ceiling mirrors portray the realism of darkened corridors and quick visits to her bed. Tears glide unseen, settle on her blouse in a blot. The eyes redden as velvet anklets bite like a demented lover. Every motion of her body tightens the chain of lust around unwilling hips and protesting lips. © Seshadri Veeraraghavan « Home | Contributor Notes » |
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