bliss station ~ poetry

namakarana

dog eat grass. grass eat man.
november rain is like that
whatsapp forward -

a funny looking man one side
& a funny looking woman upside down.

my great grandma
died while boning fish.

she just fell over
like a daruma doll
like an impossibility.

my friend texts me from delhi -
bhai, it's like a furnace in here
& we got tickets
for the india-bangladesh tomorrow
exclamation mark, party emoji.

grandma only had white saris
& all a wonderful stainless.

she washed more fish than a river
& more tenderly too.

I'd point at a flower & ask -
what's that called?
at a bug - what's that called?

at a point in life you just start calling them
whatever you feel like calling them. she says
I name this sardine your grandpa!

november rain is the stroke of the midnight hour -
dark. november rain
is the sound of angry insects
banging on a glass door.

I'd point at a rain drop & she'd say -
a raindrop has a single jump
yet look how eager it is to fall.

~Ajay
6/11/2019