I had seen him while he had incontinence and urinary tract infection with feverish delirium. He was later diagnosed with renal carcinoma. He had noticed a dot of vermilion on my forehead as a symbol of Hinduism. He was diagnosed with panic disorder. We spoke about mortality , life after death, many lives and many masters. It was difficult to let go of the fragile life threads, I saw his struggle. Fear of Thanatos pervaded the room and lights dimmed. He said hesitantly , I did not believe in ” Idol worship” but now I want to donate an idol of Vishnu to a temple in our native place , in silver …I nodded reassuringly. There was hope in his eyes. He continued , ” There will be no flaw in the idol , only then it will be fit for worship” I did not defend the flaws.
Forgetting did not help at all. I did not forget. I knew he still suffered from feelings of inferiority , I knew I still carried that air of a trophy to him. Nobody else did any better. The others tried to subdue me in respectable spaces . The others insulted me with out getting caught. He insulted me calling it love. But then men almost always begin with lust. It becomes a power game , when it is not reciprocated. It is a power game even if you reciprocate. After the ego is burnt down , very few beds remain cozy. Learning indifference is easy after years of tears.
Whatever I renounced easily
were repeatedly shown to be
a deficit or disability …
or my secret longing….
Why is it always speculative or imaginative ?
Till that also ends, like reality.
Will it ever end ?
There is no end to imagination
But reality has an end.
Imagination can also be killed.
She looked up from her note book , yes they issued search warrant for my imagination , used it against me. Did it work ?
There were so many reasons why I transferred what I felt and felt what I never felt. Similarities in suspecting me and suspecting me of every possible illness , a firm belief that abuse does not make a victim , instead a victim was always a victim because of a mental illness. Making me doubt my self , as though I was mentally ill. Reduplicating abuse , to make me say “No” or “Yes” ?
With out language everything is confusing.
I tried to make sense of it alone , but it reached nowhere.
It was abuse , it was violation of boundaries , however decently done.
Was I obsessed ? No. I gave up on trying to make sense.
I felt a prick in many curves
Searching for the needle
I saw your conscience
Stitching my torn dress
Then the lights went out
Darkness was warm
Finally I knew why women say
I walked away from that one man
who taught me to say “No”
I hurt you because
I did not heal
And I had the gall to see…..
I could not have pressed the
Benjamin button nor
Go to the Year of the cat
Turn back the time
And erase the Random Accessible Memory…
I could hug you over phone
You made that viral!
I wrote a poem to let you recover
You used it as evidence!
Sigh …or song none were spared……
All my strengths became vulnerabilities
I felt no lust for a man
For whom love was dispensable.
I frankly want to forget an affair
That never happened
Except in your head and
On my white dry paper…..
I have served the sentence
For writing poetry.