in all my stories
There were endless love stories
with puny princes
There were sunflowers
enthralled by swooning princesses
Ants tripping on pieces of jaggery
Sweet bells in temples tottery
In a lonesome corner
Grandmothers
being catty with their Gods
in their warm checkered quilts
Leaves and earth
Being made to mate
by warm rains and
a hedonistic wind
Men playing with shingles and nails
Soaking rags into a drain
Nodding to loud wedding songs
Swatting busy flies
Desiring each others wives
You are at fault Mother
Jolting my body
at sunset
Making me swot
At books that teach poetry
Reading up wars, famine, death and gore
Now look at me
endlessly insomniac
trying to scrape at
My corrugated face
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