Scraping

I have always been scraping.

 

Scraping dinosaur scabs

from wounded knees,

before healing was done –

A habit that stayed.

 

Scraping off ‘malai’ deliciously burnt,

stuck to the bottom

of the thick aluminium pan,

sprinkled with sugar crystals,

delighting my childhood palette.

 

Scraping labels from bottles

and women - Miss, Mrs, Ms…

pointing to which man she belonged.

 

Scraping memories from

the clay tablet of mind,

This is not a script

I want deciphered.

 

Scraping melanin from my skin

so, I could fit into cruel fairy tales,

 with a treacherous fairness.

 

Scraping the vine of desire,

its tentacles entwined deep

with the tissue of the heart,

changing the course of the

red flow of pulsating life.

 

I’ve always been scraping,

the way life scraped away

you from me…