Magic clings to the eyes

 
The other day I told you what I do after you leave.
Today I'm telling you what I do before you come. Listen closely.


I go to market. Buy fresh beef. Come home and cook it.
Store it in an airtight box in the fridge. You love meat so much!


I pick through, choosing only the liveliest fish.
I know how you love to chew fish curry, crunching every bit.


I bring chicken too, cook it, store it in the fridge.
What if you suddenly say you want chicken...?


You might want something, and I wouldn't be able to give it to you—
...I don't want such a thing to exist in this world.
You probably don't even know I'm completely vegetarian.
I'm such a peaceful person, I can't really accept
all this killing of creatures.
Still, for you I can do anything!
Sometimes you make me want to murder myself on purpose!
I understand this too, and I accept it too!


I water the rooftop garden plants every evening without fail.
I keep the long narrow stool facing south.
What if you suddenly feel like sitting on the roof, pretending to watch the sky...?
You don't even know I took this attic flat by the roof
just so I could sit beside you and watch the moon!
Yet look—you've never once gone up to the roof!


I stock up on snack ingredients before they run out.
As soon as you arrive you get busy and demanding: give me something spicy, right now!
I love your demands, your orders.
You don't know I never eat evening snacks.
I take a bite or two with you, when you feed me—
I wait for that moment.
You are my habit, my awaited way of being.


I buy big milk cartons, extra sugar, and plenty of tea leaves.
At least half an hour before you enter the house, I have tea ready.
Whether the milk and sugar are right in the tea, whether the tea leaves have steeped properly, whether the cardamom count is correct...
I probably check all these things hundreds of times.
You're addicted to tea, I know. It has to be terribly strong, stronger than hell!
You don't know I never drink tea.
I sit beside you, take a sip or two from your cup—
I do this only thinking of the touch of your lips.
I really don't like tea. Have you ever realized this? You couldn't have!


I cover my cigarette-burned lips with lipstick.
Draw light kohl around my eyes, shampoo my hair to make it alive.
What if you ever feel like grabbing my hair...demanding a kiss...?
You don't know I don't like dressing up at all.


I arrange the flower vase, tidy the bed, polish the dressing table mirror.
As soon as you enter the room you look at yourself in the mirror again and again—I've noticed this many times.
You don't know my room isn't always this neat.


Your tea cup, snack plate, bowls, milk mug...
I wash everything thoroughly with soap, dry them, keep them ready.
You're very particular, you love being clean—I know this too.
You don't know I'm allergic, so touching soap is strictly forbidden for me!


Before you come, I stand gripping the window grille for an hour.
Through the bars I keep casting my gaze toward the path you take to get here.
Standing still, waiting, I think:
Any moment now you'll come stepping carefully up that sloping lane!
I never understood before how sweet this restless waiting could be.


I love cooking for you with my own hands.
Even if the food is inedible, tasteless...I still cook it for you!
The most beautiful sight in the world seems to me
when I see you stuffing my inedible food
into your mouth with such deep satisfaction.
I think to myself: ah! my little madman!


Abandoning expensive restaurant delicacies and royal home-cooked menus,
when you eat my inedible offerings saying "How wonderful! How wonderful!"
picking at them with such contentment,
it's so beautiful to watch.


You don't know why I didn't give you the pasta that day.
You got angry, forced your way into the kitchen and ate it anyway.
Before you came, I'd had Ananya taste the pasta to see how it turned out.
She wrinkled her face and said,
"It's absolutely awful! Even a dog wouldn't eat this, though a boyfriend might!"
I was so angry at myself hearing this! That's why I didn't give it to you.
Yet you ate it with such joy!
Watching you, tears came to my eyes, but you didn't see.
What can I compare that feeling to?


I know sometimes my cooking has too little salt, sometimes too much spice.
Sometimes too much seasoning, sometimes no seasoning at all!
Yet with what greedy, hungry eyes you devour it all, plate and all!
You silly thing, does anyone do this...hmm?


I love burning my hands while cooking for you.
I love picking at the leftover bits of food you leave behind, licking the plate clean.
I love waiting restlessly, gripping the window grille.
I love opening the door to the knock-knock sound and seeing you there.
I love wondering when you'll return, when you'll come back.
I love falling asleep with my head on your chest.
I love hugging you from behind and biting your back.
I love kissing you with my tongue at your ear, on your lips.
I love burying my face in your palms and keeping my eyes closed.
I love breathing in your scent from all over your body, desperately desperately love it.
...Truly, I love everything about you, love it all!


I want to live many years waiting for you.
I want to keep seeing your satisfied eyes for lifetimes and lifetimes.
I want to listen to your heart's thump-thump with my ear to your chest for several births.


Because I want you, I want
reincarnation to be real!
The next life to be real!
...My desire to keep touching you will not be satisfied even in a hundred lifetimes!