(TW: Violence, knives, murder, burning)
The late-summer drizzle turned into a thunderstorm as I sat
hunched low on the couch, by the dewed window, bare feet on the cold floor,
the last remnant of the fleeting warmth in my hands - lovely, sweet, Alphonsa.
I held her tenderly, inhaling the scent reminiscent of youth -
the smell of fresh, white blossoms on ageing trees, of clement mornings,
biding a reluctant goodbye to her gentle passion and sunkissed bliss.
Then I grab the hilt of a near-blunt knife, fingers trembling as I
plunge the tip into her flesh, etching onto her skin and my mind a scar
that will last forever, as her ichor trickles down my hands, searing skin.
The stench of scorching flesh overrides as godly blood carves a mark,
a golden tattoo on my wrist; her scent becomes one with my skin.
My tears fall on Alphonsa's rotting skin as I bid adieu to my childhood friend.
(This is the end of the poem, but I've included a breakdown of what I intended to convey through the poem below, if you're interested.)
'Alphonsa', or the alphonso mango symbolises the summer of youth. Killing Alphonsa is not the literal murder of a person, but the compulsory, tearful goodbye one must bid to one's youth, as one takes shelter in the dusky shadow of age.
The thunderstorms approaching too signifies the end of summer. For reference, where I live, summer is from March to May and is followed by the monsoons. Mangoes are a staple of the summer months, which is when they ripen and are plucked.
Yet, despite the parting of Alphonsa, or one's youth, the spirit and memories of those times remain, and shall forever be burnished into one's being in the form of a golden tattoo. Slitting Alphonsa's skin spills ichor instead of blood, showing the eternal relevance, the immortality of that period of one's life. **