Severed

i am tired of sending
pieces of myself to you,
one at a time
through my songs, my rhymes
through those countless hours
we spent in quietude.

like shattered pieces of glass
they lie,
disfigured,uncautioned, untouched,
covering the floor
of your 8*7 bedroom.

do me a favour,
after you sweep them out
of your room and life,
return them to me

i want to live.

Home

Give me a home

that isn't mine,

where I can slip in and out of rooms

without a trace,

never worrying

about the plumbing,

the colour of the curtains,

the cacophony of books by the bedside.

A home that I can wear lightly,

where the rooms aren't clogged

with yesterday's conversations,

where the self doesn't bloat

to fill in the crevices.

A home, like this body,

so alien when I try to belong,

so hospitable

when I decide I'm just visiting.

Arundhathi Subramaniam