before the greasepaint
she goes out to play
In a white cotton dress and bata sandals
then wanders purposefully around the house
looking for nothing.
cooes right back at the cuckoo
till it, angered flies away
and shakes with laughter.
Stands on tiptoe near the table
Face upturned,Whats for lunch?
leaning her head against the car window
she sings sad hindi love songs
in a shrill piping voice.
loves parrots and paper dolls
and pink ice cream.
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in this rush to think out of the box ,I forgot to see whats inside.
7 comments:
this has neither rhyme nor rhythm..cant decide whether this is poetry or prose..
i think i love it still.
lol...pink ice cream!--hehe..
thats u!!
pink icecream and old hindi love songs and cooing at the cuckoo... i must admit it sounds just like u.
this is really good.
yes it is me..as i was many years ago...before all the layers of hypocrisy were added on ..before i grew up.
layers of hypocrisy (snort)... oh sure....layers of hypocrisy would make u shut up at rhetorical questions...growing up is another matter altogether.
nobody snorts in my blog.and that includes u miss.
Great work.
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