‘Dear Adam, this night is for us’: Five poems from Pallavi Padma-Uday’s new book of poetry

Refugee

It’s not berries, but the colour of blood clotting
on my tongue, so pungent I must be dead
to lick the wound but I do. Like a carnivore.
It’s the fear of walking into the light that bares
my tummy tucks. I always buy black dresses.
It’s sweat-soaked wipes buried under the bathroom
bin. It’s many colours against white, yet no one wants it.
The garden soil smells like cow dung, like the dorm bed
children wet in sleep. There is always a pillow for weeping.

Dear Adam, this night is for us

alone in a Snapchat room where distance between us dissolves
and we see each other in psychedelic filters. In this alternate
universe where love is free from lockdowns, we can be lovers and
friends, suitors and flirts, listeners and therapists within seconds
of a screen scroll. Here, we don’t see our tired muscles or the
over-flexed weights you championed once because none of us is
here for winning. In your three decades, your heart has sought
acceptance for the body scarred with rejections, but we know we
cannot take snubs as last words on the promise life can be. Your
laughter rings like gurgling fountains and the world fades like days
in autumn. In your eyes, your dreams have condensed into longing
transfixed into mine. Your parents lived through big Troubles, you
are so ready for someone like me – brown and battered, star from
firmaments where shooting is forever. You and I...

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