Sepia creeps across the blighted letter
ripped along the midriff and scattered
to the cold valley beyond

Bombay lights twinkle against the water
against the wedding procession
with the pallbearers striding through the rain

Loud booms of laughter echo
along the yellowed airport corridor walls
brought forth by the familiarity of a long forgotten
and safely concealed homeland

But there remains
a reticent young woman I know
who asks
Would you trade in your thoughts for emotions?
Would you give away the hours to eternity for perennial sunshine?
Would you colour your hair blue?

There is a woman who wishes to know
The reason for the joy found in an abyss
The source of the trembling earth late one moonless August night
Death at the bottom of the creek behind the hut
the scent of the incense that burns through her sleeping mind
I have been her


A cat yowls and skips across the rafters
a car stikes up a din on the highway road
a guard lights up his beedi
and with a bang of his lathi, resumes his vigil

And I succumb, drifting into clouds of the rich perfume
of slaughtered time, and all its virtues