I am unwholesome –
Like the remnants of a flightless bird,
Which perished in flight
On its way, away from home.

 

I have no bier, no cortege,
I lie on a pyreless pile;
My soul bilks and incubates
With no afterlife.

 

I have no eyes, but sockets that see
My teeth chatter and say:
That I am a foregone conclusion –
Beyond even death's despair!

 

Dubai
2007

                          

Geeta Chhabra