
Here I am, slumped in the corner,
blood oozing out of a hole in the side of my head,
while you peer inside.
Your hand tugging at my chin for leverage is annoying,
but I don’t have the heart to push you away.
Whatever you see inside makes you smile.
I’m surprised.
I didn’t think there was anything in there except
mud and an endless torrent of slightly salty rain.
Before I know it, you’ve widened the hole
(your hands are smeared with blood)
and pulled yourself in.
I can feel you rummaging around in there
with your hosepipe sucking up the damp
and your broomstick sweeping up the dust that’s left.
I feel you sneeze.
I can’t hold back a chuckle.
Oh no, I’m sorry.
I didn’t mean to jostle you.
I hope you’re okay.
The sun’s starting to come out now.
I search for a rainbow, but all it does is blind me;
a light so bright it knocks me out cold.
I know there’s snow falling now – slightly salty just like the rain.
I can’t do anything to stop it.
I know you’re getting buried.
I know you can’t breathe.
I can’t do anything to stop it.
I never should have let you get inside my head.
Oshin Padhye was an undergraduate business student in the past, and is a postgraduate liberal arts student in the present. She hopes to become a copywriter someday so she can have a steady job, write and get paid for it. She loves stories – regardless of whether they’re in the form of poetry, prose, music or telvision shows – and feeds off of them.