
a butterfly
sits in the road, until
a car passes

a butterfly
sits in the road, until
a car passes

the white walls
of the funerary bath
glow with morning light

floodwaters rise.
peacefully drifting
around the calves
of those in search
of things that float

at sundown,
the lake becomes
a mirror

Ganesha: Obstacles removed & Good luck brought All yields to the elephantine forehead & elephantine learning Seemingly immovable when seated, but I've seen you swing; hoisted by a crane & dangled out over the water But the pendulum arc was short & stiff & precarious: as if it might flip the crane -- every remover of obstacles must leave a detritus of past obstacles in its wake



The mirror lies,
pretending to be a window.
Through the looking-glass?
My ass!
It presents a prison
in fine detail
&
with a glossy coating,
but it can’t be escaped.
Its truth is overbearing.
That’s how it lies.

There once was a Bangalorean mailman who always had a monsoon season plan. For heavy rain: a coat; heavier still: a boat. And if all else fails, move to Rajasthan.