He had seen her feet

sometimes , in his



Running through

the rice fields

dripping in water

Dancing with cows

nodding their jingled



Sprinting across a green

wall of maternal Ivy

Growing with painted

nails ,speaking

A language of flowers


Hearing the sounds of

laughing guitars

Excitedly taut and

tense beating drums

A quivering drop of mercury

froze in an icy coffin

A centipede with hundred

crawling feet ,

Confused its stride

like a caterpillar

of lashes over

A misunderstood tear drop

weaved a frightened



The language of flowers

Masked in a garden

Of leaves , a network

Of veins nourishing the flower ,

Hidden in the stalk .


Rustling years

Drying heels

Layers and layers

of dead skin.


A forcible brush of

the pumice stone

to denude the aching feet of the

dead skin .

Burning feet

Outlined in blood

Met his eyes

groping for the panting roots.


His lips tasted

The bitter medicine

Of a bonsai neem tree.

Exorcising ghosts

Sized like Lilliput.


He was nostalgic

for tiny dancing feet like petals

He saw the galaxies

where she had left behind the dance ..

Light years behind her like halos.


He heard the broken strings

Of that guitar .

Natural grace of a geography

Replaced by a circus.


He saw the rings of Saturn

Below the hurt eyes

Around the shorter second toe.

He noticed the calluses,bunions

In grown nails

Over growth of optimistic

Connective tissues .


They both looked down

She, at the beaten path

He, at the broken heels,

He asked her softly

” Where are your shoes ?”

He repeated patiently ,

“Cinderella , where

are your shoes?”


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