Her marred maang

Her marred maang short poem

Two flailing oiled chotis
slap me out of stupor.
The Goddess arches out
hinged at the pole,
her saucer hands clasped
below mine.

A hooting call answered
with crystal stare
from wide apart eyes
that grazes my shoulder,
wounding me. Incoherent slang
shot with a nasal twang.

A crisp line scarred
by ghosts of stitches drawn
on scalp with the edge of a comb
down, down the valley
of her marred maang.

The milkmaid, having borne
the consequences
of an agitated udder,
the warrior princess
sporting the memento
of unanticipated victory.

An ecstatic partner
with clammy palms, thrown
off a phugdi rotation,
Devdas marks Paro
with expressions of love
garnished with glass shards.

(This happened one morning as I shared the foot board of a Mumbai local train with a most astonishing girl, standing in front of me.)

maang = a line formed by parting of the hair on two sides
chotis = braids
phugdi = a game played by two people by holding each others’ hands and rotating around each other

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

2 Comments on "Her marred maang"

Notify of
avatar
Sort by:   newest | oldest
Editorial Board
Member

Dramatic and Dark, vivid and stark, your poetry is a study in contrast and such a pleasure to read and review @Pooja_Ugrani !

Reyvrex Questor Reyes
Member

This has a delightfully new color to me, as seen from the eyes of a native to the surroundings, and speaking the language. Differently delightful.

wpDiscuz

Her Looks

Her Looks short poem

Jinxed out was the sex panel on the honour’s integrity. Deep water a fish was found dead. The destination of your rival was feminism. I was talking of the moon without gender. Your fingers were probing the dancing words, in

Her Fancy For Fancy World

Her Fancy For Fancy World short poem

She is a girl of ten and six fixing her keen round eyes on tiny mobile of red hue In her fair palm, swaying dizzily on the busy pavement unaware Of herself suddenly stunned to face a scooty before her

Her Eyes

Her Eyes short poem

Whenever l go for college I look for those two beautiful eyes Eyes,”clear as morning sky” I pray,”ohh God never make them cry” The eyes with there own vocabulary Whom I need to write my life long story The eyes

Her Very Soul Is Shared

Her Very Soul Is Shared long poem

At the weekend she’ll go back again to walk barefoot on ferns and then through flickering green mosaics where sunlight never burns she’ll wander wisp tossed shadowed lanes of timeless peace rimmed hours where emerald rain drops sprinkle from sky

Make Her Lucky!

Make Her Lucky! short poem

lucky are those women, who are married to someone they love. lucky are those women, who are free to be themselves lucky are those women, who are told YOU ARE SPECIAL lucky are those women, who are told YOU ARE