Sunday, September 9, 2012

The moon hums a thumri (and other shorts)

It was odious
No whore willing to have him
Due to his dog's breath

After the earthquake
The village women
Started to stitch the ground

Work is consolation
Said the prisoner in solitary
From the andhaa cell
Breaking stone with a blunt hammer

When I held her hand
It was blazing hot
She laughed
I am a piece of the sun
That fell through the sky

The tree squinted at him and said
If I was a cypress
In Varanasi
You would worship me
With oily diyas
Not chop me
Into tiny pieces

They put him in a washing machine
His thoughts emerged dry-cleaned

A camel sat in my empty suitcase
Pack me, he said
I want to travel to Havelock Island

She refused to forgive her father
Ever since she saw him
With another woman
In his grave

Very few people know
That when the moon goes round
And round
Planet earth
It hums the thumri
In purab ang

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