Wednesday, 17 July 2013

Ganika, Rupajivas and Pumsachali (the Courtesan and her Missing Muse)

Her hoodie hides the horrors
of a ravaged mind – strewn
with garlands and bouquets –
sweet imaginings
in time spent

            They trained in music, conversation, learned to
            dance and act. Took starring roles, took
            lavish salary

thrown upon an unmade
bed. Where is your legislation
now her teeth – her kids – are gone?
Is this the object of your
thrusting, the taste of things to

            Their words sang beyond the courtyards,
            eyes glittered long after stars had blinked,
            hands outstretched in welcome

She could flip burgers –
ignore stale scents and fingers dripping
grease – then, long after the burger
bar has ended, she’ll remember
the taste of evil on your

            Their hair could light a thousand ballrooms,
            feet whisk a man to heaven and never
            would another hurt them as

She worked the streets, her private
flat, sweated saunas,
clad in bondage for the
man who never features
in this never ending

©Carolyn Cornthwaite 

Carolyn writes poetry, flash fiction, short stories and has almost completed the first draft of a novel. She dreams of Booker prizes and a life in France and blogs at