“Let Me Seed This Thought” – Three Poems by Bunny
Photo: Karan Madhok
Poem: ‘I dip the iris in soy / and watch the dark eat the color. / Still, through the stain, I see you.’
- Bunny
Tonight’s Sushi
To get lost in the eyes,
would you let me pluck them and dine—
two pearls, fresh on the counter,
the chef’s knife needless for once.
I dip the iris in soy
and watch the dark eat the color.
Still, through the stain, I see you.
Starfish—half star, half flesh,
impossible to hold
without unravelling what breathes.
I unravel its anatomy,
pour my heart where yours should be
in exchange for a piece of your memory.
I press you to the rice bare-handed,
sip the broth of what remains—
slowly, so I don’t consume you whole.
I engrave you at the tip of my tongue
before I swallow
and lock you inside, gently.
The plate is clean.
I loved you like this—
numb, full, careless.
*
Lotus
If it is a snapdragon,
I swallow it whole—petals curdling
at the violence of my stomach lining.
If it is a buttercup,
I gild my chin and pretend to like it,
though I am lactose intolerant.
If it is a lotus,
I graft myself to your stem—your purity
guilting me open, to let you pluck me again.
If it is a marigold,
I press it under my pillow—Mary’s gold,
flower of the dead, for a life to begin where another ended.
If it is a lily,
it arrives in someone else’s hands—
I did not choose this purity.
Should I offer myself to Gabriel?
Four blossoms behind me,
to not stain the fifth.
I pluck myself again, midair—
brushing past the angel’s feet, I see his heel, unable to heal.
I let your unfortunate weight lift me, to be a part of life
*
The Bad Seed
Let me seed this thought,
search for a meaning, notice the tone.
Meninges I type, vigorously—
a testa ment. You chew on this thought,
not dura ble. The cavity coats itself red,
rusted, creaks open your smile—
Numbed at this thought,
your jaw keeps working—the coat
dissolves, the red thickens on your tongue—
in the end, a spurn stung your thought. An arc
annoyed. The whites chatter, a dull thud,
footsteps of a ghost before birth—
So numbed at this thought,
the pit splits. You swallow the centre
before it roots—before it kicks—
you pluck out your thoughts
like a pia-NO, crease through your teeth, ruthless—
long gone—the tender mother, the embryo flushed
(out into the splendid seed, thoughtfully)
crafted. Spit naked. Spineless.
Shallow as the grave-l roots.
Grounded.
Almost blooming a good deed.
***
Bunny is a writer based in South India. His poetry explores memory, the body, and visceral emotion. Alongside drafting poems, he is currently exploring music production to create quiet, immersive spaces. You can find him on Instagram: @bunny.wav77.
