I live

In a cauldron of hate

It bubbles day and night

Simmers and boils over

Scarring me

I have a body full of burns

But if you ask me to show you

I will smile

Because it hides under the stars on my shirt

And pretends they are planets

But it cannot

Bubbling boiling scalding

Burns heal and burns erupt

Caught in a pattern

That repeats itself

Day after day

Evening after evening

With the morning coffee

And the nightly whiskey

When the fire is low

The whiff travels from the kitchen into the rooms

filing up every inch of my heart

On days when the night is soft and the moon dances in pleasure

The cauldron is the happiest

Because it gets to remind the immoral me,

‘Bitch, its time to empty the pot on you’

…

Rupleena Bose teaches English Literature at University of Delhi. After she writes screenplays for fiction and nonfiction films. She also writes on cinema, music and food for The Hindu, Blink, Firstpost and others. She is currently working on her first novel.