My toothbrush,
It travels
When no one has their eyes open
Or are listlessly staring
At the slow moving
Ceiling fan.
When all are lost
In their own private
Heavens or sometimes hells.
That is when my toothbrush
Slings its bag
On its bristly shoulder
And sneaks away
Mutedly
Into the dark lanes
Of unknown names.
It never speaks of it
Where it went
Or what it did.
It never lies too,
It just smells.
Of beds slept in by strangers
And roses dipped in honey
Sweat dripping from armpits
Or a nose that is runny.
That is how I know.
That it sometimes goes
For when we touch
And make love
When its bristles tickle my teeth
Sometimes I smell
The dampness of the beach.
© 2011, Shweta Taneja
Pic credit: @Maf1967