Railway toilets plastered with washing soda; The rasping of nylon streamers against Fly racquets; Chinese toys beating about Before the vendor quickly bundles up And flees; Jasmine garlands and Incense-stick Boxes sharing space with Severed goats' heads — their eyes staring glassily at you to match Your startled glance; the smell of fried flour and Potatoes, and of withering cabbage stalks; Taxi smoke, gasoline and soot; Sweat — anxious Sweat —Whiffing by on hurried steps and a Quickly muttered apology on pushing You out of the way; Mysore masala Dosas frying on a street griddle — all Beetroot and carrot and tomato flakes; A promise of naked women in USB drives, and hard-bodied nude males Promising fairer skin from giant billboards; Death of course, lurking everywhere, sometimes Peering from a bier; Suburban life-forms In their TV-equipped habitats not Peering out of lit windows; and I — I just go home, as I do everyday. (Published in Setu Bilingual Journa...
The message is supreme;
Born in the heart,
and lilting itself
from tongue to tongue,
throwing its scent
over wind and wave;
travelling on dots
or fingers
when blindness
or silence bar its way.
It hews itself into stone
or burns itself onto magnetic discs;
it is the message that lives
and I exist
solely to pass it on.