In desert we are not our women but men.
But we dance their dances remembering
Their steps on desert sand, as they would
Back home, in kitchens and earth-stoves
Where a fire dances its tongues on breads.
Our women’s eyes are all smoke and fire.
When they dance there is fire in the eyes
Melting the kohl in streams of black tears.
A beginningless God presided
Over every worldly beginning
Rising from the mud-peelings
Of the mountain of his Mother.
He would laugh at an annoying
Asymmetry of imperfect world.
Pale moon mocked at his belly.
It rocked with food in laughter.
The crowds cheered clay-God
Painted in kitschy acrylic colors .
And national pride was restored
With a cacophonous film music
You have run out of your flowers
Or your flowers have since wilted?
Replace them by sandal shavings,
They are low maintenance flowers.
Their antique fragrance endures.
You can use them in your clothes
After tears have gone totally dry
And photo starts to smile vaguely
From high wall, out of kids reach.
The elephant God finally leaps into the waters
From being mud in color and sound, to blue sky.
A September sky stops to be wet and emotional
As the flowers sat there in a heap with plastics.
The sky is back with overhanging tree branches
Gently waving to the mountain breeze in trance.
A smoke arose from behind highly littered hills
Of fetid garbage caught in a blue fire of match.
The crane sits on its haunches on the lake shore
From its glory of personally hurling several Gods
Into ripples of the lake, their marigolds floating
On the ridges, plastic bags behaving like birds.
The crane is not a bird meditating on its one leg.
You are Adam with a sprouted Apple
On neck, bursting with husk of youth.
You hurled at her a filthy word or two
Placing all your wishes at her genitals
As if they were apples of your garden.
There are snakes hanging in the trees
And a bolt from sky and curious God
Who likes to drop apples on your head.
All you do is apple going up and down
Over filthy words like worms in apple,
While she is not flower to your wishes.
Please cover your face in public cloth.
(About a recent eve-teasing incident on the roads of New Delhi)
We were asked what elephant was.
We were of course blind in the core.
We felt a trunk and said it was God.
We laughed at a stomach, in splits.
Beware do not espy a moon in sky
And get blamed for others’ faults.
Asked who God is ,and we are blind,
We say He is trunk wet on our head,
He who drowns on an eleventh day.