I know ways
to take the awe
out of the most horrendous.

Brown eyes; eyes brown; I say
she had luminous brown eyes
that seared like two embers
in the blistering heat of the sun.

Words like pale torches of lies
break deep into my realm of silence.

Truths I’ve deemed to be truths all life
stare like rigid obsessions in the eye –

Like calling this morbid whip
lashing the bare back of my dreams
freedom.

The man jumping down the speeding bus
the basket of groundnuts in his hand
reduce to a mere particle in trajectory.

I toss my coin in the air
watch its skillful landing on the table
and get my work done.

Burning tyres in Gujarat
brown as her eyes
my country weeps;
I dream of white women
and the firmness of their breasts.

Then sipping at my glass of Coke
letting the deluxe bus go
I dream of a place called New York
miles and miles from my bus-stand
cleaner than a river called Ganges.

Written by Samartha Vashishtha