As the words left his mouth

I felt the stake through my heart

Shock, hurt and brokenness

Swirled in a cauldron of confusion

Who was this person?

I didn’t recognise him

 

He seemed to know me

He spat, foamed and hurled angry, hostile words

With the strength of machine gun fire at me

Why did he feel he had the right to speak to me like that?

I still didn’t recognise him

 

Befuddled, I retreated slightly

How many tines did this forked tongue have?

Was there any truth to his words?

Not a hiss bore truth.

I still didn’t recognise him

 

The black curly hair, thick eyelashes and brows

Perhaps if I replaced his blasphemous mouth with a boyish smile

Where was the innocence, the patience, the kindness and love I instilled?

Who was this imposter?

I didn’t want to recognise him.

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An early enchantment with West Indian Literature fueled Indira’s fascination with the reading and writing of epic stories; a passion which has since transcended borders and cultures, to simply embrace ‘imagination’. She pens skits, monologues and even poetic works as opportunities present themselves. Naturally, this mother of two, confirms that her children are indeed her greatest inspiration. Indira is from Trinidad and Tobago.