For some, history is only a cleaver
that makes mincemeat on repeat
Decidedly, less of the grand and
more of the deadbeat. Nevertheless,
what is seen to survive is a cured
package of processed parcel to be
served salted and spiced in the flavour
favoured by the ruling elite of the day
For you, walking down the street, intent
on ferment, and doing things differently
Resolute with beliefs that thrum
through your young heart and
give your supple spine its steel
History could be a cutpiece canopy
Linen, cotton, wool, satin or silk
Any and all. Plain and with flourish
To be parsed, perused, sifted
and patchwork stitched. Adding
to the existing weave of patterns
replete with every kind of kitsch
And the whole only the more
and never the less for it
i
A smile snags the gaze
Has it darting away and back again
Licking the wick of desire to fire
ii
When defences are slumbering,
who kisses you in your dreams?
Carol D’Souza lives in Chennai. A collation of her work can be found at linktr.ee/cblaizd.