Morning walk

She walks---

The little girl

Barefoot,

Thin

Dark,

Matted hair,

Patched frock,

Along with her

Doddering father

Sick, coughing,

On their daily morning raid---

In the garbage dump of the

Overeating city

Tilting towards obesity;

The two famished and stinking figures

 Rummaging the mountains of garbage;

Floating phantoms in the

Dumping ground,

 Flitting here and there

Shooing off the screeching hawks,

While a bus carries kids

To a school far-off;

Poor Reeta looks longingly,

She knows for her---

The schooling

Starts

And

Ends here

In the vast stinking dump.

Earnest prayer

The workers

Completing the

Open drain,

Mid-day May sun

Shining on their

Heads,

Sweat coursing down

Bodies taut,

Hot wind fanning

Glistening bodies black,

Swirling dust settling

In their humble bread;

O my Muse!

Let my poetry

Be soaked in

Their labour- sweat,

And broadcast

This real scent

Everywhere.

Dreamtime

Between the slumbering earth

And an awakened

Bright sky,

Humming

Mountains and silent valleys

Lit up by the

Glowing stars

Spread out in the sky,

The wandering

 Aboriginal poet,

A distant

Descendant of

Bennelong/Colebee

Fresh from the University,

Roams the valleys

Of a land called

Terra Nullius

By the invaders

 Circa 1770-88,

The bilingual poet

Who hated his origins

But later realized his folly,

Tries to capture

In his sad songs

What he hears

From the wandering spirits

That once spoke to his simple

Ancestors

Rooted to forest, land and sea,

The intimate voices,

Visions,

Sharing attitudes,

Now lost forever,

After the arrival of

The alien

 First Fleet

And with it:
 The Convict,

Conflict

And disease.

The poet tries to reclaim

A   troubled legacy,

And with efforts,

Catches the old songs

Of the sky, the land and the sea;

The vibrant songs that speak and

Heard with sympathy

By immigrants and others,

Since they, the songs, that

Document---

Their own marginalized histories.

Burden

Narrow road,

Two kids,

Reading textbooks

On their slow way

To school,

Oblivious to the

Splendors of the

Spring morn;

Two child- workers,

Carrying head-loads

Of gravel,

Opposite direction,

Passing them by:

Absolute silence.

scar-face

You are the moon!
He said,
Sitting on the 
Parapet of sea-wall,
Legs dangling;
But the moon is scarred!
And she, hurt,
Walked away.

dystopia

The long silences

Interrupt the

Desultory talk;

Waiters

Impatient

Take away

Unfinished plates

Of the startled clients:

Closing time!

Confusion

On a

 Hot afternoon,

A sudden

Cloud cover

Startles

And

Makes the

Solitary kid

Think that

Night has

Already

Arrived!

The Spring

Multi-hued

Fragrant

Spring

Finally

Comes

Late,

A bit

Tentatively

In the

Congested

Angry

Screaming

Asian city

Full of smog,

Blaring horns

Dusty roads

Dark hovels

Gleaming apartments---

Like a fresh-faced

Child,

Arriving

With a

Shy smile,

On tender 

Unsteady feet,

In a

Bleak 

Airless

Mirthless

Home,

Not sure

Of the

Reception

There.