Poetry

the sweet smell of biryani

Image: red spices, by Bora Rex.
  • I carry a taste within me
  • that swims through mash potatoes,
  • undoes what a granma does,
  • rejects grammar.
  • I carry a taste within me
  • of generations-distant genocide,
  • a rogue flight
  • because you read the wrong book.
  • there is unburden on my shoulders – 
  • my hands stay soft,
  • and the hymen of hard work
  • lies untouched.

but I cannot sit still.

  • I run
  • and run and run
  • away from a self,
  • away from an other,
  • because I cannot let go of the fact
  • that I am not one.
  • when I look back
  • into the steaming pot,
  • the sweet smell of biryani
  • pours desires.
  • I am a warmed piece of ghee.

my recipe is untranslatable.

Categories: Poetry

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