Tuesday, September 30, 2003

Are Good Guys not around enough these days ?

Had an awful
feeling of bad vibes.
Called your office,
on a hunch.
They said
you wont be coming,
you were not
feeling well.
Called your home, and
the phone was off the hook.

Didnt like the sound
of it at all.
Decided to
drop in and check.
You are shocked as you
see me at your door step
at 10.30 am, Monday morning.

I too am shocked
looking at you.
You try to hide your
face as you welcome
me inside.

Your place is in shambles.
Things strewn all over.
Stale cigarette smoke
and dank smell of sour
liquor greet me,
as I remove some of the
scattered things from the chair
and sit down.

Clutching your crumpled nightgown,
you ask if I would
like coffee.
I say yes.
Give me 10 mins, to freshen
up, you say, here, read the newspaper.

You go freshen up, I say,
I will make coffee for both of us.

You are too tired to even
thank me.
You vanish into
the bathroom, as I get into the
kitchen.

I know, by the time you
come out,
you would have somehow
concealed the black eye, the
imprint of brute fingers,
on your swelling cheek.
You will fool me, like you will,
and all the others, as in past.

But tell me, can you pick the
shards of your heart? Can you
mend your fractured spirit ?
Can you balm your
branded by terror, psyche ?

You will never admit that you
are a victim of
physical abuse.
You will never ask for help, advice.
And, none, will be offered.

I wonder why, I wonder,
as I get the coffee ready,
you are clinging on
to this bloody relationship.

After all, you are smart.
Beautiful . A rare Portia. You
could get any guy you want.
If only, if only,
you will let go of this one.

But you wont. You will hang on
to him. Damn you and the thread
that you wear around your neck,
that according to you,
sacredly and eternally binds you to him.
And his sadistic ways.

I wonder, if intelligent women
are really intelligent ? I doubt,
by seeing the kind of guys they land up with.
And also, from the
kind of guys they refuse to part from.

Is it that I value the
intelligence of women
too much, with respect to their
choice of men ?
I could be wrong, I admit.
As Truman Capote once
wrote,… “Women are like flies. They
settle on sugar or shit.”

Maybe, sugar is short
in supply, nowadays.

But, I think, TC missed out
on the third category - salt.
Some women seem to relish
in rubbing their wounds against.

As I get the coffee into
the living room, you
are magically back, as the girl I know.
All the bruises are made up,
expertly. May be from practice.
You are no longer the battered
and torn aging woman whom I saw
at the door. Why,
even the room is straightened out
with no signs
of any disarray.
It smells better, and seems cheerful,
with the room freshener you have
sprayed on.

Once again, you have
managed to conceal all your hurt,
all your pain.
And putting
on a show of being the strong woman
I know.

Playing helplessly
along your sham,
we bury yet another
sordid chapter
of your life.

We sip the coffee, making
mundane conversation, oblivious
to the tragedy. Suddenly,
your face becomes a
waterry blur, as I cant conceal
my care for you.

I wonder,
when you will
save yourself?

Or kill yourself.

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