One-way

The road to the market

Has become one-way

With a death in a house

Above the sweet stall,

The freezer box

Is out on the street,

With mourners seated

Under a canopy,

A band is playing

And the air reeks of

Incense, roses and weed,

The motorists turn back

Clearly unhappy they can't

Use a short-cut to work

The pedestrians rush past

After a furtive glance

Not wanting any reminder

Of how it all finally ends ---

Though trees shed death

Every season at our feet

And not seen as such.

Waiting

The blank page
Waits for words
To fill its emptiness,
The bare blue sky
Will not mind
Even barren clouds,
The white wall
Wails for
A child's scrawl,
The lonely aadi wind
Knocks on doors, windows
Crying to be let in,
Dreams stand orphaned
In every street
Of the sleepless city.

Lust

In the dark
Colours lie awake
For the day to break,
Roosters sleep light
Cannot wait
Serenade false dawns,
The dream brings those
Who have vowed
Never to step
Into the house,
White chases tan
While brown blanches
Ochre darkens
With lust
Turns ogre
Finds the door shut.

Colours of desire

When we meet
We swap lists
Of what we have bought,
She looks admiringly
At my designer wear
Praises my taste
Envies my luck
At getting a rare shade
Extracts a promise
To get one for her;
Pleased, I seek her tips
For repainting my house
I tell her I liked her decor
The last time I visited her;
After making a fresh list
Of what was new in the market
And what we needed to buy
We take leave, heads bursting
With the colours of desire

The deep

The hands are tired
From clappping
For those
Who leave little for others,
The throat is hoarse
From singing praises
To someone whose miracles
Include taking away
The little there is left,
The feet are weary
Of the mountain path
Leading to an empty shrine,
The eyes keep looking at the skies
Hoping for signs of cracks
The ears want to hear
The rumble of volcanoes in the deep
Which wants to give up the dead.

Agnihotris

The brick-lined
Homam site
In the hall
Is still warm
The fire still alive
Under the ash,
Children offer paper petals
Imitate the 'swaha' chant
Of the priests
Who have all gone ---
Smoke begins to rise
Forcing the grown-ups
To cry halt to their game,
The little flames
Dance away on lithe feet
To where they conjure
Another fire, other sacrifices.

Disconnect

What is seen
Is not scene by scene
The defender
Looks like the aggressor
The first blow
Is off-screen
What is spoken
Is not heard
What is heard
Is not understood
It is not my own
Who are dying
It is someone else's houses
That are being flattened
It is not my sea
That is being poisoned
Not my livelihood being stolen
I nod my approval
When my leader
Stresses the need
For people to sacrifice
For the nation to progress.