i stand before a lovely lawn of a beautiful home
for an hour and embrace its early morning warmth.
patients old young rich poor make waves like the Jalangi
of my village. sky is heavy with great expectations– a child is born,
an elderly touches the sky of heaven–some berate breasts, some steely
pass carrying dying limbs, others adjust looks in rear glasses.
Paid polished men and elegant ladies wear coded uniform and like
domesticated dogs they bark and stir tails as codes dictate.
guards abuse the poor and spread red carpet for the moneyed.
the counters full of coins, even the pullers and peasants are agreeably
made to drop life’s savings for plucking alien flowers.
nobody argues, spacious a c space with h d sets, eyes glued to
India’s rising stars or roaches-eating man. complaint boxes lazily
sleep for years. for service they come and service they get.
they have not sold sense of ‘sivility’ in marketplace!
