untitled 35

rains over many days
turned tamarind, mango,
peepal, banyans jittery.
the old man on the kerb
-- chintamani
-- wiped their trunks with
fresh newspapers.
the rains stopped,
residents chopped the tree
tops.
flying fox,
egrets,
cormorants,
fled with their nests.
the sun shines on nothing. 

untitled 34

bewildered by beatitude,
the young nun is sure leading
children to school in the mornings;
kisses them bye to maid servants
in the evenings;
parents too busy living,
too busy dying,
rely on the nun
irregular with prayers.  

untitled 33

a pink bauhinia,
two calling orioles,
took my friend
on a morning walk over trees
and walled parks,
over hills and mangroves.  

untitled 32

sand particles sickle the air in
Kutch and Rajasthan.
silver anklets, bracelets,
enlarged nose, ear-rings on bright toned
women;
forest moustaches tarnish faces,
a turbaned art add inches to men.
spare with words;
unsparing with wood-fired, dal-batis
after days had left.
camels stride in ancient style,
a quiet in their eyes.
forts wrap crags suggesting
wild angers.