ambling on a sunday city morning,
circled by goats trundling ahead of their goatherd,
he paused.
walking back home passed the
goatherd aflame in cash.
single on morning walks,
coated in waves of auto fumes,
prayers parting lips,
is good morning friend.
--- a few lady rag pickers nosing bins,
an old leper in an orange headgear tagged to
a blind sister, squatting outside churchwalls,
tired milkmen on cycles relaxing with mobiles,
newspaper vendors not calling news,
couple of deranged women,
stray dogs asleep inside a shiva temple
----  daily, unshifting landmarks.
importantly, madhavi,
watching kids, without schools, noising,
takes off to her village with her three kids,
a remembrance of smiles.
while madhavi mops home,
he cleans, chops vegetables,
never knicking fingers.
slinging a stifled soul from her shoulder, madhavi walked to the devi temple,
60km from her village,
the promised third trip.
is sure of devi keeping the deal.
on diwali day sat in her shack
twirling a damaged 50-rupee note
passed on by one of her middle-class employers.
her village river has two banks, madhavi none.
the bell in her soul has no gong.
it happens to roadsiders.
fate lines cannot be braided.
he cannot be them.
in aging times hopes to walk till knees bend.
smiles
--- at squirrels scampering overhead wires
bridging treetops;
last of the snails after rains, snailing.

scary lightning,
drooping clouds on parijat blooms;
spray footpaths at dawn.


...........  


relishing a rare breakfast,
the bullock lurched, dropped on the tarred road,
shoved down by owner and three hands.
they tied his legs for shoeing.
a lone tear crawled;
iron nails pierced the flesh, jesus-style.
in an hour, the bullock stood up;
yoked to a cart loaded with twisted rods;
a  whip, the animal heaved, collapsed,
leaving owner cursing shoeing costs.




............