No Home for My Poem…

cut me open

there’s no blood

left to spill

veins will only squirt

dejected hopes

rip me limb to limb

only words will tumble forth

stories waiting to escape

will find their way out

to the hearts of those

who doubted


and when I am dead

my parodies will sing for me

because in living

there’s no consolation

no prams for those babies

there’s not one roof

no home for my poem

there’s not one heart

that will peek into

this hardbound soul

and hug them

like one returned

after taking a lost road


Asha Seth