Wednesday, 17 July 2013

Ganika, Rupajivas and Pumsachali (the Courtesan and her Missing Muse)

Her hoodie hides the horrors
of a ravaged mind – strewn
with garlands and bouquets –
sweet imaginings
in time spent
sprawled,

            They trained in music, conversation, learned to
            dance and act. Took starring roles, took
            lavish salary

thrown upon an unmade
bed. Where is your legislation
now her teeth – her kids – are gone?
Is this the object of your
thrusting, the taste of things to
come?

            Their words sang beyond the courtyards,
            eyes glittered long after stars had blinked,
            hands outstretched in welcome

She could flip burgers –
ignore stale scents and fingers dripping
grease – then, long after the burger
bar has ended, she’ll remember
the taste of evil on your
tongue.            

            Their hair could light a thousand ballrooms,
            feet whisk a man to heaven and never
            would another hurt them as

She worked the streets, her private
flat, sweated saunas,
clad in bondage for the
man who never features
in this never ending
tale.


©Carolyn Cornthwaite 

Carolyn writes poetry, flash fiction, short stories and has almost completed the first draft of a novel. She dreams of Booker prizes and a life in France and blogs at http://wimpywriter.com/

1 comment:

  1. Another blissful, sensory and tactile write here Carolyn. I can smell and feel this world with how you've pictured it. I also love the italic writing which adds a whole other layer to this piece. Very rich, evocative, and wow does it speak!!! NICE!

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