Snake Swallowing Its Tail


A petty poem.


I imagined her smooth, soft skin turned dry and scaled with age and neglect; the whitening of her

lush hair, the souring of her body.


Time would shake beauty from her, if beauty exists, until she became a bare and scrawny trunk

surrounded by wisps of past glory.


Her muffled cries would fade into the years, and the shine love lent her eyes would dissolve into a

tired dream —


or so I thought;

I thought that love was nothing so important after all, and I could shrug, indifferent, and let her walk

away with her wet cheeks and anger —


And oh, if I could take back that day!


That is what you’ll say

the day after I leave you.


You were warned.



M.A. Mohanraj
November 15, 1996