When old wombs fade

Eighteen steps descended
To a half lit supper hall
Cracked up wooden benches
Stretched out in zigzag rows.


Old age in white,
Walking shadows
Moved around.


The creed that slipped love
Through their crumpled skin
And frozen fingers
Gather every night
For a silent curse.


They invoke the goddess of abandon ness
With their empty breast
Snatch it out and
Make it their penance.


Their skin is blue
And howl every night
To the lands across valleys
Crossing mountain cracks
To drench and drown
In thick rain forest.


They live clustered
Like millipedes in monsoon
Their backyard room
Smell of tears dry and
Gods sluggish.


The incense burning dope.
They crawl out
Half opened doors
Of pinching memories


Deep beyond their drowsy eyes
The lust for life
Reign their nerves


Once,
On a frigid wintry night
They dragged me in
And grabbed my skin.


Lead me to a dungeon
Of ash soaked bones.
Pulled my hair and
Squeezed my flesh
For a drop of blood and
The color red.


Crumbed my cheeks
Hugged me inmost
When they danced around
The full night moon
In their bright white robs.


I took their trail
That hoary night
Through the pines
To their dark blue cottage.


Looking through the cracked up walls
Saw them having silent supper.
In the dim light inside,
They looked pale
Like distant hills


I moved back
Two steps, twice.


They are mothers, deserted.
Like wild stray dogs.

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