Martyrdom Poem by Devanshi Khetarpal

It was the
Same
Towhead doll
That muffed
Under a
Slip of my
Exit.

That
Ran away
Into the
Davenport
Past the
Slanting mirrors
Which
Smeared her
Eyes
So she couldn't
See the house fires.

So she couldn't
Cry out
The flames.
They mustn't
Bedaub
The halting
Glass,
Snuffed by
Reels of
Rosewater,
Jasmine
Lake mist
And housed
By the
Flea.

But
Here,
A martyr
Having a siesta
After the tough
Blazing war
In the flame
Winds,
With ashes in
Her eyelashes.
There she was.
Being hogged
With fishbones
And ketchup.