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this crane meditates one legged or maybe sleeps away the malnourished afternoon others look for earth worms I meditated before it dawned with rain from the rising sun I heard the rain on my window pane my prayer beads were moist with perspiration from my palm it is serious mango country this the road is heavy with over-ripe fruit on a buffalo cart with inflatable wheels urchins play with the common house fly peasant revolutions wither away in humidity sometimes towns erupt like chicken pox from a small minaret the muezzin calls women lift their hijaab to spit out betel nut juice and butt-ends of sexless nights in open fields pregnant with sinful sugarcane that wizened husbands will sell for cash 2 this gnarled boy of twelve surely masturbates he is unlicensed master of a one horse cart that runs into beggar cripples who topple and wish him leprosy followed by amputation he in turn refers to a part of their sisters' anatomy which their sisters cannot possibly possess and thus they all have immense fun like school children at luncheon time like pigeons at afternoon tea like Oprah on sanctimonious TV like psalms darkly parodied for Bush and fervently colloquially sung 3 this high road has opposing bill-boards one extols the god with the phallus symbol the other advertises remedies for male vigor or the absence thereof that the god can't but observe these are pressing times ruled by warm laptops breeding impotency and cellular phones in breast pockets chatting indiscriminately with pacemakers this is the age of clairvoyant widows who haunt virtual brothels stocked with monoliths of the gods 4 this rainy season is disastrous for the snakes it waters holes and chases jungle rats away now on the road the snakes run naked and slither hate at the geriatric sun but it's pathetic how they rear up their heads just as I squish with my tires I assume they hiss or cock their ears to hear death which has sharp edges like a rough blanket on my hotel bed or pilgrims dressed in faded red 5 this river is fat ugly and amazingly fast for someone who has left the hills behind and will now bare all for men and women and irrigation canals hydroelectricity for the national grid carrier of national garbage pollutant of the virgin bay this river is playground for my sweet water dolphins I will ride my river leisurely in return for seduction with her glacier mouth when she sparkled in an exuberant sun and I was very young 6 so google me set me afire in this rain read my poems and pretend 'but this is not it this is not the languorous armpit' afternoon sunlight yes but not through that window certainly not on chintz not dusted this language of a nut brown Indian not legitimate this pain in my mountains I eat up my pillow and shiver Darfour my spell-check tells me it is Dafoe genocide is Caucasian Eliot you read my scriptures now read me my sacrament ©Ashof Niyogi Ashok Niyogi is an Economics graduate from Presidency College, Calcutta. He made a career as an international trader and has lived and worked in the Soviet Union, Europe and South East Asia in the '80s and '90s. At 52, he has been retired for some years and has been cashew farming, writing and traveling. He divides time between California, where his daughters live, Delhi and the Indian Himalayas. He has published a book of poems, TENTATIVELY, [ISBN : 0-595-33935-2] and has been extensively published in print and on-line magazines and in Chapbook form in the USA, UK, Australia and Canada. |