Confusion about heads

We were confused in  single head
About Brahma’s number of heads

Including skull we saw in the hills
Loosely lying in the flowing  river.

Brahma had a fifth that looked up
In incest at a daughter of himself.

We were confused in single head
About heads – three, four or five

We have only a head that swivels
On the shoulders unidirectionally

With no view of what is up in sky.
We feed rice to our men up there.

Women at the water tanker

Ephemeral are waters formed
In snow hills melting by a sun

And the water in water tanker
Here over which fiery women

Fight in their diagonal throats.
Ephemeral things reach seas

From the hills and the tankers
And by women’s wet voices.

Their bodies thirst for waters
From mountains and tankers,

Their ephemeral voices break
The quiet of a morning walk.

The G’s

We try to picture great grandmother.
We did not know who our g.g.m. was

But would dream her in  holy thread
On  shirtless chest, a lump in throat.

Our sacred thread runs  left to right ,
And is reversed on chest right to left

And we have placed three rice balls
On a banana leaf with sesame seeds

For g.g.m,, g.m. and m. in that order.
As lineage grows , g’s go from them.

Mom’s watch

She was our mom , big mom
In green, fond of wrist watch.
She gives us mixers to make
Our truth and hers palatable,
Keeps ticking watch with her.

Let  watch be buried as truth
As men get busy with mixers.
They hear truth ticking below.
They come here in quiet hour
And keep ears glued to earth.

(Sounds were heard from the tomb of Jayalalitha former popular chief minister of Tamil Nadu,that turned out to be the ticking of her watch with which she had been buried)

The sister

This day we welcome the wealth goddess
Asking her favors, new clothes and gold
Husbands’ love, life and joy, job and kids.

We do not need brooms and bath room
Slippers with a bit of darkness skewered
On golden day of wealth and happiness.

A dark sister of the wealth goddess waits
On the staircase , with  bare neck devoid
Of the golden hues of wealth, loose hair

In full disarray, on a bareback of poverty.
Behind ,she stands sadly on a door frame
Gaily decked in painted flowers, brooding

On her heavy deprivation,  sibling rivalry.
The marigolds sing in a heavenly beauty.
Their dust flies in face in a soft fragrance.

The stories told make us rich, husbands
Long living, loving and leveraging wallets.
Let us slam door shut in the sister’s face.

(Lakshmi the goddess of wealth is welcome in the homes but her sister Jyesta who comes riding on an owl, represents ugliness and squalor and is turned away at the door)