By Reedhima Tyagi
Ask me
And I will tell you about love
Ask me
And I will tell you about hate
Ask me
And I will tell you about rage
Ask me
And I will tell you about sorrow
But please,
I beg before you
Don’t ask me about myself
If you ask
I shall have to tell you
About the fairytales I have had to write
From the chunks of my own bones
If you ask
I shall have to tell you
About the tree at the corner of the garden
From my grandmother’s house
If you ask
I shall have to tell you
About the sweetness of its apples
From the summer I never forget
If you ask
I shall have to tell you
About the apples in the fruit basket
From my apartment
If you ask
I shall have to tell you
About the afternoon its juice stained your hands, the unchewed bite inside the sink and its bitterness which sprawled across your face.
By Reedhima Tyagi
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