Spills On Stairs

They said that heavy hands held worried heads,
or the other way round,
and the room was stuffy.
Bar punters talked to the bar maids who
couldn't hear them for the ear
pieces in their ears and intercom bosses were telling them
of spills on the stairs and a fight outside,one
that started because one guy saw another guy kissing his girlfriend but he thought that she was his girlfriend so went in with punches when, really, all he ought to do was ask nicely with a carefully punctuated sentence and walk away after.

I went home last night to no one wanting my heavy head to be held in a pair of worried hands.

Tacoma Callum

for Neil's new love

A shadow of Washington State on her forearm;
a bruise from her storm after the calm.

His name was probably Callum or Luke,
or something equally as annoying, and
in his canon of hugs and kisses
was a battalion of punches and verbal threats sent forth and forward
when he was pigeon in the park, unpredictably drunk.

But when they were out nobody knew of their
war on the home front, because for the punters of that Italian bistro,
that one in the centre of town,
they put on a Louis d’Or worthy show so no one would suspect;
conversations of extended families got tangled up in their spaghetti,
linguini lines of work schedules and when-will-you-be-homes were twisted around their forks.
And his knife tried to cut the tension.
And hers spread something, anything, over the wounds and bruises,
reaching for her cardigan sleeve to hide the Tacoma light rail
lines of ruptured vessels that made up her Washington State bruise
he had given her hours before in the upstairs, never-going-to-be-a-family bathroom.

Nail Down To Cuticle

The nurse leaves her 12 hour shift behind
and waits for the bus biting her nails.
The last time I bit my nails
I chewed down to the cuticle
asking myself where along the line the confidence was knocked out.

Everyone's Poems - Namitha Varma

Tears hijacked his dreams,
fear overtook love.
In rotating ceiling fans
and rolling hips of dancers,
he searched for them both.

I sold myself to the wrong people,
the wrong people solicited my souls.
amid a flurry of wrongs,
my heart set out to claim some rights.

The blue veins shone through her fair skin,
and the knife in her hand glistened.
the brightness of the red spilled
was also never disputed.

Rheumatism, Arthritis, Blood pressure, Insomnia;
There was no ailment she was not proud of.

Dust, smoke, CO2, NO and a little oxygen.
The human is contented

- - -

Namitha Varma is a media professional based in Mangalore, India. She is a voracious reader, a music enthusiast and an opinionated social observer. Her works have been published in Sahitya Akademi (May/June 2014), eFiction India, Coffee Shop Poems, and A Little Poetry. They can also be found on narcissistwrites.blogspot.com.

Twitter Verified

Sit down and
tell me how you really feel.
Take off that binary mask
and let the light from the living room
turn those ones and zeros into
a pale pink, paint-by-numbers human face.

Let the birds do the twittering,
you don't need to join in with their chorus.