Stain

The stain, like a mark
a sort of a drop of
mixture of oil, curry,
lentil soup and sauce
on my blouse,
stares at me.
Acidic, corrosive but
odour less enough not to
distract much,
it sits quietly on its own.
After several washes and
vigorous use of bleach,
I failed to remove this one
small patch of dirt, from
my overtly sanitized cover,
that hides my own self,
until one day, when I saw
a tiny drop of blood oozing
out from a hole near
my heart and
staining my blouse where
the old mark still showed.

I realized, that while
I was bleaching my blouse
everyday, an wound unknown to me,
kept bleeding from my heart
leaving marks on my
blouse, making it into
a permanent feature.

While the stain changed its
colour several times
as I washed and bleached,
the wound remained as it was,
staining every blouse that I
changed.