Culturing our own death?
As we huddle together
In trains, planes
Cuddle together in bars,
Jostle together
In clubs, pubs
Struggle together at
Our office desks
Walk together as herds.
Is that death hiding in
the pleats of your skirt?
Is that death clinging to your
trouser like a stray hair?
Are those fingers moving
toward your eyes to rub it
toward your nose to scratch it
Do they have the itch of death?
All the objects inanimate
teem with life, tiny yet profound
moving from man to man
as they are touched, pushed
Handled with nonchalance.
Are those hands turning the knob
Opening a door
Of unknown possibilities
Opening a door between life
And death?
Can you wash those hands off death
sanitize the ending of this story?
Yes perhaps.
Author Bio:
Akshaya Pawaskar is a doctor practicing in India. Poetry is her passion. Her poems have been published in Tipton Poetry Journal, Indian Ruminations, The Blue Nib, North of Oxford, Rock and Sling, Shards, Red Wolf Journal and Awake in the World: An Anthology (Riverfeet Press). She was "Poet of the Week" on Poetry Superhighway in 2019, featured writer in Wordweavers Poetry Contest, and second place winner of Blue Nib's chapbook contest (2018).