‘Grief has a dress code’: Two poems by Anushka Chavan

Photo: Karan Madhok

Poetry: ‘Will you drag me onto the shore, or should I become the tide? / Will you bring me home, to the river, / Or will I be lost in the hills once more?’

- Anushka Chavan

Dress Code for a Funeral

 

Grief has a dress code,

messy, but clean. 

Cry, but don’t scream. 

Mourn, but don’t make a scene. 

Look good, but not too good, 

or they’ll ask what you have to hide.

 

I press my nails into my skin, 

digging for proof that this is real. 

Still, I must smile at the guests, 

offer water to the ones,

who watch the spectacle of my sorrow. 

 

The house cannot be too gloomy,

They wouldn’t have liked to see you sad.

 

I am the man of the family.

I’ll hold your grief too, 

carry it like my father did, 

until he couldn’t anymore,

 

The way eyes learn to hold pain, 

how dark circles speak the things, 

a mouth is no longer allowed to say. 

 

 *


The Current That Knows My Name

 

O god whom I pursue across changing skies,

tonight, I am at the river’s edge,

feet bruised from roads that went nowhere,

palms heavy with love too great to contain.

 

Beyond the water, your temple shines

A lighthouse in the waves of my desire.

I take a step, but the river rises,

cold currents whisper, not done, not yet.

 

I have loved where I was forbidden and cursed,

built walls in hands that released me.

Now I approach you, bearing the ruins,

hoping that you will not turn me away.

 

Let me rest here, under your embodiment of moon,

suffused by the ashes of your mercy.

I drop my darkness like leaves from autumn,

let the wind of your name sweep them away.

 

How unknowingly I drift into your tide,

Question if love a prayer or a surrender?

Devi, will you open your doors?

Carve your hymns upon this tired body?

 

Tell me, Devi, is love to be a crossing or a current?

Will you drag me onto the shore, or should I become the tide?

Will you bring me home, to the river,

Or will I be lost in the hills once more?

 

And if I am lost, let me be lost in you.

If I drown, let me drown in your love.

If I burn, let your name be the last on my lips.

For this lost soul, you are the shore.

For this wanderer, you are home.

***

Anushka Chavan is a writer and storyteller. She writes about culture, gender, identity, and the quiet, intricate moments of everyday life. Her work often explores art, memory, and belonging. You can find her on Instagram: @nishi_1m.

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