Three Poems


if you tell me
not to take the rickshaw
up this incline
I will huff and puff
and see the trains passing beneath


of platitudes and monkey-nuts
that momentarily keep me warm
swarms of lives
lived in bus-queues
in the up-rise of breasts
that will be molested
again and again
in fields of grain with temples
where your banner flies high
give me food at yours


where the destitute eat
and breed faith
in your trident modified
to reach only to stars
and not beyond



fish fry
I die


before I dance


this train
will stop by the Beas1


after the beet root wilts
rabbit leaves
take flight from cornfields
to rabbit ears
dipped in tea
with bangles
red and white and gold


that book which props me up
lots of thoughts
in sunset
with you


and the will
to catch a cab
refurbished with letters
in alphabets


we now will learn
to dry
in winter fun



because they were four-laning
the highway
I could not go to meet you


this ice trident on my head
is when I once walked
past tire-treads


the bud
and two leaves
of tea in improbable gardens


a cane chair
and a town
where buses procrastinate


before they leave
to where the mountains
end in plum


apple flowers
bitten by dew
are the tears


wept into the first snow
salt melts
and ladybirds
from beneath rot


on the snow peak
we are weak
in the morning sun



1 Beas: A river in Punjab, in northern India.

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