Neha KumariWild Meadows
We were allowed
To laugh, but not loud
Hushed, the windows must be closed
Mind the door, not ajar.
It took mind to defy and speak
The heart always believed
That it was love
I was protected and valued.
I kept looking at my feet
The long forgotten rhythm and flow
It always slipped by until I realise
I know that I had never tried.
The house until now had never seen
The act of negotiation
Love is the name where I have ears
And my husband has opinions and things to decide.
I kissed him on his lips
And I held his hands in mine for long
That night I asked him to be the love I always wanted in my life
I told him how I always wanted to travel
Only to reach a house
Which has a balcony
With a pair of rattan chairs
A cat and a shelf filled
Poetry, essays, and letters written in hope and despair,
I don’t remember if his mouth quivered
But it was a silent seal of rivers.
The message relayed
I wish we have okra in yoghurt gravy tonight.
It did cost 30 bucks enough for two
And the next he asked if I could find
Two rattan chairs, a cat, a shelf
And books of poem, essays, letters
Written in hope & despair,
I felt like I betrayed on my dreams
Which were solely mine until the night.
He was never asked before
Never felt this light, included
Coming down from a pedestal high
Where he had to pin the labels always right.
My feet, they dance to the tune of memory
As he reads to me
Autumn, Ali Smith
The book that occupies his rattan chair
In balcony the side–left
Because from there,
He can reach out
To mend the fire
And to hold my hands
Cold and rugged, smelling of wild meadows every night.
