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I just finished the story by Perumal Murugan
where a chair comes between a loving couple;
it’s not controversial—
there’s no intercaste marriage or infidelity,
nothing to offend anyone’s sensibilities
or to provoke the police, a court,
or a right wing mob to ban or burn any books,
or to threaten a mild-mannered author
with damnation or bodily harm—
there’s just a man, a woman,
and a chair that slowly drives them apart.
Of course, the chair is a metaphor
for patriarchy and other problems
that inevitably come with modernity—
like the wailing toilet in another
Murugan story, or this phone I use
to talk with the people I love,
and also to avoid them.
Poems about the dark times.