Ahalya
As butterflies to wanton boys,
they tear our wings
for their sport.
They tend us and curse us
rape us and repair us
love us and hate us
deify us and demonize us
kill us and revive us
for their sport.
Indra,
king of the gods, ravished me.
He didn’t have to do much
Just take the guise of my
husband!
Sage Goutama,
my husband, cursed me.
He didn’t have to do much,
Just turn me to a stone!
Lord Rama,
the Redeemer, gave me life.
He didn’t have to do much.
Just touch me with his foot!
(I am not sure, whether it was the left one or the
right!)
I became Ahalya again!
Did the men talk to each other
To ask the why of the happenings?
……
Suddenly unhomed,
a frog, so secure
under the moss coated
Ahalya stone, – smirked:
What do you expect!
It was after all a manly game!
…and leaped into the lily pond
with a mighty splash
A Fistful of Stars
What a fistful of stars cannot do?
Sprinkle a few
on the cheese omelette
and see them melt like
a child’s innocent smile
on the golden brown patch.
It doesn’t matter
if the chillies frown
and the onion slivers snarl.
You feel life is worth living.
The problem is
you don’t get them in
stores, nor order online.
You have to close you eyes
and look skywards—
stretch your hands and wait
till a few stars drop
on your palms.
Close your fist.
It’s all organic!