a father's footprint is big enough for all
the footprints of the forest to hide in
but only when it thunders not after it rains.
even the leaves falling on the shadow
of the tree cannot hide it. the shadow
still falls on the leaves, then the tree.
*
an indian house is a terrorium
of arranged derangements.
those butchered days hooked
together, high and wet, for flies
to beach, brief sandcastles
of cutmeat, only to be blinded
by gandhi-money's glint off
the cleaver.
*
she strikes the temple bell
for the same reason a horse
midchew stomps its hollow hooves:
to raise dust, to fuzz the path that lies
in wait as long as they swallow pills
of hay with a whip of water.
*
her head of state is here.
bodyguarded.
play the anthem
but don't tell them that
it's not a toy.
~ ajay
30/9/2024
