Crumpled Paper/ निचोड़े कागज़
Indira Reddy

I like it. Of course I am highly biased. I like all your stuff. Maybe some color for the Hindi in blocks of different colors. I don’t even know if that is possible. I like the poem. In english. Which I am almost fluent in. Generally. Wait, wait, I will write a haiku. It will be entitled “NON-Haiku by exhausted sick soon to be 57 year old devil dog from the Ozarks.” ( ahem, clear my throat, ahem….)

My heart, my very loving heart, giving freely to you,

I invited you to make my heart your loving signpost, a celebration of life,

Yes, you left your mark and you crushed it, my very heart, given freely,

you crushed it and the blood that flowed from that wound was blue-black,

blue-black blood from my heart, no mere metaphor, you crushed my loving heart,

I, in agony, searched for meaning, I cry out in the mortal terror of metaphor,

I cry out, my heart, crushed and scandalized, the paper of my heart is scorched,

I carry scorched earth inside me, paper heart, oh paper heart that bleeds blue black ink where crimson tears follow,

you have crumpled my gift to you, you have torn me in two, I soared with you, I gave everything I am to you, and now I bleed, blue-black ink,

my heart is lacerated and left blue-black,

where love has been crumpled and true crimson love, true feeling is scorched.

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