There are mundane things like shopping for ration in quarantine,
scrolling through the online delivery app
and going back to the same shop you left
with a mask on your face
and fear inside your hearts.

My mother peels an orange for vitamin C.
I watch another book dying on my shelf,
she must have been low on immunity.
We don’t switch on the television,
but keep adding tabs in our browsers.
One is about the online class,
The other is a tracker.
It scares me. I close it
but open again
for pretending to live a lie
is easier than facing the truth.
Perhaps.

It’s been six days inside this room
and I think of fishes in the pond
surrounded by flowers I couldn’t name.
In my dreams,
circumstances repeat themselves
like a tape recorder is stuck inside my head.
I sing along with my fingers
I am free today,
it may not be the same tomorrow.
I wait for days to change.

I am becoming an orange,
day by day I peel myself
over the silver plate with a knife.
The pulp oozes out like a fountain.
The table becomes a persimmon sea.

Self portrait is difficult to write,
I acclaim myself as a failed poet.
Mundanity is not an easy task too.
I make a pit in my heart,
where flowers sink
and fishes bloom
unlike the world.
I make another earth in my dreams.
It rotates on my finger.

Mother peels an orange.
I walk with a heavy heart,
We have loads of other things left to peel
but today we will sit,
and converse about the orange sea.

Two more days sink in,
The rations shops are closed.
I have decided to paint
but the orange colour dried.

©Sameera Mansuri 2020

NaPoWriMo 01.04.2020