A Song 73

At Marine Drive
in Arabian Sea,
Kabir and Tuka
in bed,
smelling of Vicks and aches;
Jasmine and Jehangir,
in fevered Coldarins;
raining clouds for curtains;
a diya in a hole,
lighted by a crow,
for shine;
sparrows, crows, mynas
hop to the kitchen,
put up a breakfast
of sabudana kichdi, tea, pavs;
spoon-fed by Deva the donkey.
On invites to bless their homes,
Kabir and Tuka,
Jasmine and Jehangir,
air-lifted to nests;
ordained pregnant, holy eggs,
wet twiggy beds;
wheezed leaky moons.
Dropped at Peace,
their home,
crowds kept vigil
on window sills,
when news came in of chicks;
out popped
Kabir and Tuka,
Jasmine and Jehangir,
from sick-beds,
fit;
assembled,
round sofas and tables,
uncorked wines,
wisdoms.
Need not be so,
became so.