from there, to here, a feeling
of an open wound, a kiterope
scar kept away from anything
that would fit in, intersect -

cutting chai is not a thing here.
the panipuris are injustice, even
the buffalo averts eyes. but the
monsoon is falling into me, a spring
in my heart, to the pond where
angry birds dip, pink tigers sip -

a boy with a glittery trophy
is carried by men into a
biriyani palace, two girls
catch-catch with coriander -
pothole - monsoon - petrol-
like peacock train, wind-sold
one by one - extinction - a honda
unicorn threads through two
carts, one with cabbages & the
other with everything but -

the same attitudes
wear new butterflies
to meet me & say imagine
if the grass stiffened & dew
rolled down into the earth -

how fast and thick the clouds
would be, & how quick the pond
will fill - the unreason of it all
is reason enough - to drink tea

at the traffic corner where you
could scream and no one would
notice [ no one listens / you can
say anything ] biting bread &
jaggery cake - there is no cutting
chai here but the tea is just
the same, the lip of glass to yours
exact & eyelashes hold water
like a baby animal.

~Ajay
31/8/2019