This article was originally published by MoCha, the ANU Ethnocultural Department’s new online magazine, created by Men of Colour, for Men of Colour. Click this link to view the full site: themochamagazine.com.
A sky of blue,
looks almost teal under the yellow hue,
In the reserve next door,
people laugh, because in the sunshine,
their everything is alright.
The sunshine cuts through the window panes,
and heats up the blood coloured carpet.
The fibres tear at the skin of my knees,
as I kneel in front of his silhouette, begging,
Ordered onto the sofa,
and the force of bare feet is dull.
But the slap of hot skin onto skin covered in sweat,
‘Of course I have the right to be angry!’
She swings me around,
of how I slap my chest,
and screech at him.
She thought I was so angry,
That I would hit him,
I wasn’t man enough to do it.
He was though.
When I saw the silver shine of the hotplate,
reflect back my face,
Smaller hands pulled his arm back,
I amuse myself sometimes,
thinking if they’d not done so,
I could’ve finally found out if you could see blood on red carpet.
‘You’ve lost your mind. You have no right to be angry at us. You must never be angry like that ever again.’
Kneeling again, beside his chair,.
and from above she looks down.
She says nothing,
But her contorted frown,
and her bulging eyes,
they tell me.
Her teeth are clenched under tight lips.
He shifts in his seat.
The heat of her hands sears my shoulder.
She pushes me forward.
My knees are going to get carpet burn, I think to myself.
Since I laughed at the shine of the hotplate,
things have not been alright.
And to this day I wonder,
what my face,
the one on the hotplate,
what it would of looked like,
if it weren’t for those small hands.
Reza Mazumder is a South and West Asian MoC who studies a Bachelor of Asian Studies (Asia-Pacific Security Major, Korean Language Minor) at the ANU.