Blue

My dreams are dark blue
So are my wavering eyes
So are the fields of dew that moisten my home
Floating through paddy fields that release birds from time to time
Staining a blue sky with murmurations

When the grey rain arrives
I melt into paint that colours the forest for four months
The sun shoots through the clouds and calls me upwards
Every house is plastered by my dreams

Inside them mothers feed fresh kittens
Poets soothe themselves over bridges wearing blue breezes
Farmers sow the future in twittering valleys
Clothes lines evaporate into cerulean dust
That travels formlessly over a blue river, touching the water now and then

I lend my indigo nights to travellers
Looking for refugee in cold villages warming a roast
I enter their dreams silently and get translated
Into new languages that voyage across the plateau
Speaking of fables that entrance faraway children
Who run happily through fields teasing bluebirds

– translated from Marathi

Leaving Behind

the table creaks, a dove
takes sudden flight
leaves behind a twirling feather

it thuds the floor mutely

the town rises home by home
street by street, step by step
shadowless faces smile and yawn
a sun softened by a quilt of clouds

grey and thick like my grandmother’s hair

she does not live here anymore
only her cats do, a few spice bottles
transperent and organised
they tell us about her past and future
the kitchen window lights up like a film screen
outside, a row of doves
take flight and disappear
leaving behind a fluttering echo

Tomorrow

Tomorrow, I’ll be sharper
waking early, letting
my wounds heal
as I visit the market

but for today, let me sink

and become unlovable and unkempt, letting
the scattering of cup stains and pages
build like forgotten promises, ensuring
my prophets stay in the room as
the afternoon
becomes a lulling evening, songs
enter through the window
betting for a long night, strained eyes
let’s just keep the early alarm
for
another day