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10 Pence for Innocence


Svetleena Choudhary

I see

Juicy white mice,
10 pence each.
Of course
In the corner shop,
In the hospital,
Where my father worked.

I Want

A blue-white Monday
Full of tang,
Walking with eager steps,
Tasting the anticipation
Of biting into each mice,
So deliciously sweet.
I felt it
Before I heard it.
Spit on my face
That too,
In my domain.
Infront of my corner shop,
In the hospital
Where my father once worked.

I Act

The heart of a child
It knows not what to fear
I fretted about my mice
But, stoically stood my ground.
Rubbed the spit on my face
With the tears that fell.
The strength of
An audacious dewdrop
Hanging on for dear life.
The ego of a blemish,
A tear
The might of its mere existence
To clash
And, then
I, still,
Bought my mice
Before walking away.

I Know

I still taste the mice
I feel the pain
The logic of a child,
Not always in vain…
It still
Is the hospital
Where my father worked
My father did not change
Does home ever change?
A part of me,
A heartbeat away

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