Sahitya Akademi

ProphetAuthor(s): Samartha VashishthaSource: Indian Literature, Vol. 47, No. 4 (216) (July-August 2003), p. 64Published by: Sahitya AkademiStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/23341123 .

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Prophet

This porcupine of a constable

pärks his cycle in a corner

and in routine way commands, One big almond milk!

The wicked width of his lips stinks more than the khaini he licks. In a jiffy he grabs the glass, rests his sceptre on his hips and digs his teeth within.

A flash of parliament white.

I take deliberate small sips; he can't outrace me still.

I linger on

on the pretext of peeing against the wall.

A true son of India.

He bangs the glass on the counter

in his pocket puts a hand

and fumbles for something in there.

A good poem gone, I grieve! Out he pulls a kerchief

off his moustache

wipes the fluid

and with parting burps rides off.

The wicked width of my lips. A poor vendor loses, thus

his only means of living.

A Love Song

We know this ivory feeling

falling like dew from the sky then climbing our backs.

Love

sitting on our noses

proud. Love

64 / Indian Literature : 216

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