The Noresoup Jukebox

April landed me softly in a hospital bed, veins poked countless times by needles and a thread. glad to have good company come by to watch my demise. they ask me if I am feeling better, obliged, I wince, quite alright. Then of course, the disappointments settle in, for whom you showed up for and the little who chimed in. Even just to take a peek at your condition and say,  you'll be better, I'll pray for you, be happy and well. Well, faith in your prayers so the illness leaves me be,  And in my sorry corner, with death do I make peace. But then all the love I've ever known, knocked on my window to say hello. So I let the light in, good day to you. And they stay the night, so no bidding adieus. And my phone buzzes from all the sorry men who disappoint me, I leave them be. For a sorry man leaves the tender-hearted hard at heart, and I choose to flee. No man shall come by now to steal my peace, And the experience of my grace, aptitude, and passionate tears. So tired am I of the...

the process is easy but toughened by minds that get wheezy at the thought of finding words beyond the five letters  perturbed by  the response not yet known. easier to say than to admit  that one did everything wrong  because one did not know what it feels like to stand in someone else's shoes, big or small and they all say they hurt when their shoes are new, and not yet worn by onlookers, witnesses, past lovers, yet barricade their feet from moving past like blisters are promised. well what if, you worry about the blisters you cause and how it may have ruined the wearer and their feet and their gait. well what if, the hurt you cause is bigger than yours and pain is a thing that comes from you to others, knowing, unknowing. How to say sorry, perhaps do not say it at all. perhaps reserve the pretense, the crying after the milk, spilled, perhaps clean it up and soothe the sorrow, for words cannot tackle all that has been burrowed.

All you need is a drop of feigned affection And of course, the world must know! Loose lips that parade a love not known, But the imagined kiss that leaves the head through the mouth --- A desire, turned fable, turned truth,  And of course, the world must know! "That it did not happen, but oh! it could have. Had I placed myself more endearingly, She would have rushed to my arms and kissed me! But I held myself back, so that she would too." What a damn fool. Little men talk of such grand affections, So empowered do they feel by their fables, Of people praising them, loving them, wanting to be them, Oh, and all the women pine and yearn for them, And of course, the world must know! Little men are only empowered by grand fabrications, This performance of the man they would like to be. How pathetic. Now, the world must know! Oh, you little men of imagined power, Standing tall at 5 feet small, How bizarre the world must seem from down there, I guess I don't blame you for your de...

And so, the church barely remembered my name Though I was only gone a few weeks or so. Perhaps I should have made grander entrances. So I may be remembered for my flair, If my name is meant to be unknown.  To be loved is to be remembered, So tragic was my easy transition to oblivion. Ah, well, What does it matter? Though I ruminated all the way home, When I reached my apartment --- all empty, dark, and cold, I opened my fridge and sat in the light, The fridge, my sun, Kinder as to cool the unforgiving heat, Finding refuge from the awful summer night. Was it my disposition? Should I have ignored the spiritual call? But the sun reminds me that I do exist,  And I did not have to worry after all. Rays blocked by shelves filled with loved things; Meat that my mother brought from home. Among the loveliest, 3 pairs of peaches, Rolling out the bottom shelves to break my fall. 

Met my supervisor on a Monday - first bad decision; Dressed in Monday blues, my cotton dress soaks up the heat. Enter the dreadful cabin, twas the witching hour! I had no clue. Left the cabin to soak in the sun, Her scholars follow, They whisper to me, tell me to run. I do not listen - this stubborn whimsy; I believe there is something to learn even in the coldest corner of Delhi. Her cabin, calling to me, I sat myself before her - sorry to say, I was stunned. She made 3 people cry before the clock struck 12, Lucky was I to be the fourth one! And so I laughed a little,  Shook off my tears, she chuckled. I know I can do better; I needed the push. She smiles,  I leave,  I cry some more. Her scholar tells me, This is normal. It's happened to her before. Hugs me tight, offers relief, and then I cry some more. Hottest April in Delhi yet, they say. The city should worship me for my April showers. I did not take it to heart, Nor was I hurt, In fact, it made me want to do anythin...

Senhorinha - Rita Payés, Elisabeth Roma Sorry to go back on my words, I'm still figuring things out. I suppose I enjoy being alone; So long as I have people to wait on --- be gone a day or two, But coming back, to me, after a while. I suppose I do better with the wait than the solitude of ambiguity. I suppose I enjoy silence, so long as it is soon to be broken. By cheerful banter, stifled laughter, My mother singing in the kitchen. I suppose I do better with the laughter Than the music lonely in the background.  And if we are already supposing, I should also suppose that I might love someone later on, And it should break my heart now To succumb to the depths of marriage later. I suppose that kind of tenderness might find me, in time, and soften these rigid walls. I was so different, last April. But, I'm still figuring things out.