His silver and gold are corroded.
His lungs beget a fungus .
I was a neglected sperm; this Small Cell,
already a cell
which makes his alveoli become the galls in a
dried leaf,
bronchus knotted like Medusa’s dreadlocks.
Unlike creating me, he has created an evil.
His blood carries it till the dead end,
like a father
carries his child,
like life carries death.
His breath, as sweet as any father’s
to his daughter , now melts my face.
I breathe behalf of him – my nostrils
are his.
I want to be his exhaled air and push this cell
out
before it divides ceaselessly. Does it recognize
my early
form hidden in every one of his
cell?
It is neither my twin nor my sibling.
We are not even.
He detached me from his flesh, even from the
beginning,
as if he never wanted me, as if I weren’t placid
enough to remain in his body.
Now that the creator
and the destroyer exist as one,
his creation won’t be the same,
and none will survive.
Like the metal is eaten by its own rust.
Like burls made out of very bark.
2015
© Subhadra Jayasundara
