bliss station ~ poetry

on some indian roads

on most indian roads eyes can see only so far

with jagged bends & sudden curves & buildings

like tower lumps of metal clay making goosebumps

in the wake of the smoky sky / on most indian roads

the nose sniffs its way into places / into the nursery

where the gates are teeth of damp wood & the bite

is about the prices of the potted plants baiting mud //

[ hundred rupees for a single rose ] my mother walks

away [ sister it's a country rose] someone pursues

[ does the rose know about the country ] mom mutters

[ they just grow where they're shoved ] I grow where

I was shoved / I am a rose is a rose / I saw a narcissus

the other day & looked at it with such self-absorbed

regret that I thought the greek gods would be down

any moment to turn me too into something disappoint

ing // on most indian roads I look for the clock-shops

all hands moving in sync as if it's that easy if you try

but I love the older ones more where some move

while some don't / all in their own time // on most

indian roads the new shops open next to the old ones

as if everything gives birth at some age in this country

of a billion countries // when I walk into an old clothes

shop the man inside is producing bras like they were

sacred objects / I move to the mens' & browse the

shelves of [ turkish sky, fired brick, beetle ] all the

underwear flavors but still exit empty handed // on

my way back I find my parents shopping for brinjals

& tomatoes to go with dried fish when the old shop

keeper swivels a lantern like something chopped off

a streetlight / running down the species to fry & the

ones to curry // on most indian roads on the way back

the past films by like wind made flesh / on the road

back home I tell my mother [ krishna had two samosas

before he went to war ] & she laughs almost in firm

disbelief but then she orders [ four samosas, parcel ]

~ Ajay
25/11/2019