Ash Tray


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.

Why call you me your love? I hate it.

Society laminated me with custom and curse.

I am only an ashtray to your emotions

Climbing this weighing machine

You push and press

And always expect your image to come out.

You need to recall a damp diaphanous dame

Spiraling out of surf to buy soap;

A cute belle drawing her hand

Down the cheeks of a guy to buy a shaving cream.

From bread to bed

From ass-wear to apparel

You subject yourself to the Freudian commercials.

Yet

When you see through the gory hole of amneo centesis’

You press SOS signal if my image is coming out.

Why call you me your love?

I hate it. I hate it to the hilt.

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2 Comments

  1. This is so different from your previous work, Sunamu. I love it. Some people can only love others who make them feel good; who act as a mirror for themselves. Great work.

  2. This is a sad state of affairs about female feoeticide and infanticide in some quarters of India Denise. Thanks for your compliment.

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