Sitting erect, straight backbone
As if a man in military attention-
Like wayside gods on the village entrances
In the Indian minds, the kaaval dheivams *
Eyes closed with balls in the center
In the closed-light or the dim one
Concentrate on the nose-tip
Airstrip for fly landing
That goes humming around you
Despite every chase..
She strolls into there with the regularity
Of a timekeeping pendulum
To comb, to change, to take, to keep
Or simply to cure
The flowing polyester
With the smell of spices
Enveloping, enveloping..
It’s a way of detachment.
