By Nissim Ezekiel I remember the night my motherwas stung by a scorpion. Ten hoursof steady rain had driven himto crawl beneath a sack of rice. Parting with his poison – flashof diabolic tail in the dark room –he risked the rain again. The peasants came like swarms of fliesand Read more…
Hair all tucked in; shorn of jewelleryLike newly minted doctors gathering degrees;Swaddling along in blue cloth slippersThe women in pink robes On the operation tableLike a chicken to be slaughteredThe pain throbs deep intoThe abyss of one’s core Nails digging into one’s skinThe prick of pain buried as theSensations swept Read more…
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