I will look in the very first eyes
Of round black faced god away
From white faced brother god.
Be there my witness, Krishna,
All the while over the coconuts
In my passing blue sky of a car.
Now I imagine the sea surging
Behind them that brings crabs
For the Sunday bazaar’s eating.
Let the lotus boulder not drop
From our god’s dizzy heights
And lotus stones not fall apart
But be held by an iron scaffold
With bare bodied men hung on
A fate they cannot think away.
(Re-living the memory of a journey to Jagannath temple in Puri)