Drishti Dosha

Monday, December 3rd, 2012

Time pulps and peels
her fingers as she softly
traces the thin white string
that ribbons around the prickly
steel needle. She thrusts
through the native yellow
fruit flesh. The string slides
and stings past time in citrus.
The thread pulls patience
through three mature
peppers picked yesterday:
greener than the crooked
thorns of a small rose, still
short on time before colored
crimson can ward off zealous
ghosts; feeding the soul
that defends spirits from
stripping the string of its
defense. Each entity
dangles in mid air—.


by Upma Kapoor

on 2012/11/14 at 3:27 pm

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