“Until the Last Light” – Three Poems by Sindhuri Rao
Photo: Karan Madhok
‘Keep everything you bought here— / your eager dreams, / hanging garments, / obedient smiles, / unpressed rages, too. / “Be our guest.”’
Carrying What Remains
Two hundred and seventy-three
have gathered around.
I counted twice. I remember.
She always said,
when the season of death arrives
at dusk,
swarms shall appear in packs
from the farthest islands and hills.
Half-cries,
winged,
echoed through halls.
Jasmine’s fragrance ripened my veins.
I know, fragrance does not linger long.
Four brought her chariot home,
I begged
to be one among them to carry it.
They said,
“Lady, stand behind.”
Strangers, faithful mourners
stood in rows around her.
As the bells burned low,
she rose towards the sky
up, up, up,
until the last light
disappeared into the evening’s rim.
Leaving me—
with the brightest grains
of her love in my hands.
I breathe.
I breathe.
*
Three Days
My son’s teacher asked me
to repeat the phonics each day
so he would pronounce the vowels faster.
How do I confess to her that it’s been
three days I’ve held those little hands
and three days
since the scent of a curled-up milk stain
on my black t-shirt
sits stubborn. Upright.
Sometimes, the devotion of a transverse scar
is a bone-dry heart,
in the dead of night against the
pile of murky clothes
still breathing
under flat feet.
*
An Outsider
The home I was born in
is no longer mine
“You belong to him now,” they said,
“Pick your favourite flashbacks,
and leave.”
The new house has:
two rooms,
one crowded hall,
half a kitchen,
a fractured dinner table.
“This slab shelf is all yours.”
Keep everything you bought here—
your eager dreams,
hanging garments,
obedient smiles,
unpressed rages, too.
“Be our guest.”
Hollow cavities
dripped unfiltered prompts.
As arms of my name outstretched
on these roofs,
ochre wall,
unbridged jaws,
half-asleep, the sentence returns:
“You are moving to a new country,
pack your bags under your sleeves,
fit yourself inside yourself.”
Familiar ritual,
obsolete knock.
Young feet hurtle hurriedly
(again)
towards distant north seas,
(again)
chasing shifting aisles
(again!)
to reach a faraway shelter.
***
Sindhuri Rao is an emerging writer and a dentist whose work explores complexities of human emotions, motherhood, identity and resilience. Her writing offers readers to explore strength, vulnerability and unspoken truths of everyday life. Her work has been previously published in Poems India and other anthologies. You can find her on Instagram: @sindhuri_rao3.
