Through cotton fibres
The foreign bread
of a motorbike sandwich
behind husband and wife
I find myself tripling
loud waving from the side
as my dupatta, always uneven
dances close to death
with the wheel
a dhanyavaad(1) slide her way
in return
I lift her up and wrap my head
wind carries her over my eyes
I watch through cotton fibers
gauzed vision
sun hitting the frame
an all-sense ignition
territory unknown
and do I miss home?
I really don’t know
European stock
from stolen lands
yet this unknown
the lost in translation
the discomfort
the un-learning
wistfully seeps
submerges my core
(1) Thank you in Hindi (phonetically spelt out using the English alphabet)
The heart of elegance
I used to think it was
in dainty movements
for aesthetics not functionality
in verbose language, pristine fabrics
in silence induced by restraint
in flowers that don’t function beyond beauty
in emotions that are suffocated inside
until I journeyed to there and came to know
the movements of hand to mouth
for sustenance
the ways of sitting connected to the ground
for eating, cooking, cleaning
the careful cleaning of a dish
with minimal water and maximum effect
the manner of catching water in the hand
and swiftly cleaning the face
drinking from a bottle
without touching the mouth to it
as it will be passed to many more
the heart of elegance
so far from the material
no parade
no expedition or arrogant display
just a way of living where sharing is central
a blooming organic elegance
humble essence
I don’t end here
Finally
I take the time to
sit quietly
no longer a wild thrashing
relentless creature
able to take in the sounds
of constant evolution
the building of a fire
flames that dance wildly
but without heat
before they envelop the wood
heat rising
as they drop into a low glow
not to be confused
with feeble
as they burn blue
without wood to consume
fading into embers
bright orange
a fall away from cold
I am reminded that
my body does not end
at my fingertips
here my body is not about
outlines and symmetry
or even having all my
parts as I could still live
even if one dies
but if the flames no longer burn
if the air no longer feeds them
if the air is unbreathable
the water undrinkable
the land unstable
then I can’t go on
and that’s how I know
that I don’t end
here