It’s the way he stands nearly naked in the winter sun turning on and off the railway station tap. I have seen people look less reverent tuning Mozart. I have seen hands give coins to beggars appear nonchalant compared to the way his hands give this water to his body. Don’t tell me this is … Continue reading
This one is called Grandchild, this Happy Days, this one is Soliloquy, this is Crosby and this one—Maria Callas. Blossoms of light they stand, idle and blessed like luminaries. Soon, in her hands she will hold the spent petals, the public scents— but for a moment she pauses, lifts her head, as if some perfume … Continue reading
Laksmī under Oath I left my footprints on the threshold of ancient temples, pointing inwards, like the flow of fortune. In 200 BC, well-intentioned seers fashioned me, etched in bronze on lintels, the gateways to the city. The land was barren, a salt marsh where Indra slayed a three-headed fiend, pole stars drifting and rivers … Continue reading
Poem and Dish 