This poem has been written for day #2 of #napowrimo / #glopowrimo . It is based on the prompt, patterns, that has been provided by #thealiporepost .
My watch had left a mark on my wrist.
It was the fault of a long day, some perspiration and a tightly fastened watch strap.
And where the ring once was, there was lighter skin
Obstinate and refusing to merge with the colour otherwise.
It was nine in the night and I still had four episodes to go
Before I could shut my laptop and convince myself to go to sleep.
I still had some time –
Before a late dinner and cup of strong coffee that followed.
Before I had to reply to all the texts on all the groups and assuage all those who had sent the latest viral videos
That I had indeed laughed out loud and I was, in fact, still rolling on the floor, laughing.
I still had time, I told myself –
Before I could start worrying about how the greying strands weaving themselves in a pattern near the right side of my forehead would take over
And dub me as old and khusat, adjectives that are reserved by boisterous kids for older and fastidious women.
Before the girth of my waist would expand further, year by year, and continue to sit stubborn and feed off a future, permanent state of wallowing in insecurity while eschewing any form of exercise.
Before the scepticism, often parading as wisdom to the outside world, would dull the vestiges of hope that stayed behind.
Khusat : (adj., Hindi) rude