Yours Truly

by Purabi D Bhattacharya

Then one fine day, I found me with my holdall
tear loaded
walking through the boulevards, mossy meadows
rains as always it does, brushed against my bosom
I was a woman of my own, my head
vermillion drawn.
Home shrunk and soon, out of sight
it was a misty August, unlike other years.
From badeng¹ to mei², touched my slender shoulder
strange but true, my eyes remained staring, desert raided.

Years sand-surged in scribbled, unscribbled plain papers. The outer
tanned and wilted
it was my turn, I knew
never to knock, so I turned the burden towards my right with hand on my cheeks.

Many mornings later following the August outing,
they found me towns and towns afar; kempt, unkempt plains further
from where, yours truly belonged
with flies settled over and wolves in full attendance
the body
lay peaceful, fern green: pine leaves strewn over.

1. How most young boys are called in Khasi language, the predominant language of Meghalaya, of which Shillong is capital city.
2. ‘Mother’ in Khasi

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