Pervert

Water boiling... morning tea in the making

My east-facing kitchen and my bedroom get the morning sun

My wife also suggested a glass door in the balcony

From where comes every morning the soft sun

My wife, asleep... half of her body is sun’s

The rest, shadow’s...my world looks beautiful, complete

I smell her hair, my black nest

She’s my married wife ... Married wife? What kind of an expression is that!

I am standing...looking empty and hollow...am I a pervert?

Suddenly a rage ran through my nerves

Desdemona! What on earth are you doing with him? O, that’s why the glass, is it?

Wait...kill him I will... I pull the heavy curtain

She takes the quilt and embraces it inside her

O the quilt, the bed sheet, the pillows

All seem like scattered handkerchiefs... Desdemona! Am I a pervert?

‘Hon, where’s the tea?’

Just a minute darling... about turn...the mirror traps me in horror

I rush to the kitchen. Boy! The sun has washed all the water away

‘Honey...where’s my tea?’I know a full honey is not so sweet.

A wind blows through the leaves of the tree that my kitchen covers

The one we planted some years ago. Honey!

Just a minute love! No, no... I am not going there until the tea is done

Through the breezy branches, the sun winks at me sniggering in the roaring chirps

‘Pervert’!