Monday, June 29, 2015


After three days the feet
Are reluctant to leave
Even the peepal preaches
The virtue of staying
The birds sing of a home
To come back to
When the sun is down
This is the temptation
I've been warned of
The lure of places
Like the tiny fingers
Of newborns
Latching on to strangers
Not letting them go
The tinkle of anklets
Coming with offerings
Turning into a refrain
The scent of jasmine
Staying in the nostrils
The sweet laughter
Echoing hours after
Now, I'm back on my feet
Do I remember
Last night
Or the last dream?
All I see
Is the beaten path
And the sky swept clean

Tuesday, June 16, 2015


I think of my mother
In her sunset years
Wanting to be useful
Even when she was not
Getting in the way
Trying to serve the guests
With her trembling hand
Shouted at, asked to go
Sit quietly aside
Watching the others
Wield their measured ladles ---
Strangers feeding strangers
With no common memories
Of going hungry
Of having been a have-not