Tasenda

When they finally got the cadaver, No incisions were necessary Old scars – which made a tumultuous maze On his chest – had opened up on their own They found a heart as dark as Urdu Enshrined in Coagulated dreams Rusted with unanswered prayers Broken pieces of a love long given-up on The disemboweled stomach was lined with lies A lifetime diet of deceits had led to fragmented madness to float in a Bulbous pus of treachery and dishonesty Muscles atrophied by regret Gnawed by maggots of fate, Nothing held the sad frame together Except grief frozen in formaldehyde

There is a picture of me Hanging in the hallway It is not me There is a picture of me Soft brown eyes, auburn hair It is not me There is a picture of me Tucked in shirt, Unkempt beard It is not me There is a picture of me Smiling, an invisible bird on shoulder It is not me There is a picture of me Brains splattered across the frame That is me

At the auction of pain, I was the highest bidder  Begging to be flogged till My skin wore off  At the auction of pain, A box of shattered dreams  Your memories neatly packed  With shards of broken promises At the auction of pain I was the prophet of my own doom Dissolving my visions with opium smoke  and fantasies of vengeance  At the auction of pain, A thousand devastations' every day, on constant Unceasing repeat 

The stench of my decomposing heart  Permeates my being, polluting my soul with  Unwanted memories  War flashbacks from life lived in delusions  Of a grand love, the varicose veins of a long dead  heart injected with your damned lies Each breath whip-lashing  against the  hollowness that has settled in my chest  I ruffle frantically every morning Through my kitchen cabinet, looking for  A Knife with the broken handle that can cut through  my skin, its Poisonous steel entering my veins,  Draining me of blood, clogging my heart with rust Clearing out ancient betrayals – both yours and mine- weaving maps out of scars,  tracing incomprehensible words  You, who used to tear off your silk dupattas To tie them in my name, At the shrines of unknown saints  Now turn away from me  Even in my dreams, While maggots feed on my memory of you,  One kiss at a time, till nothing is left,  But an empty grave  Rotting in the cloistered heart of  My bein