Citizen Rain and Those Khichuri Days
From an earthen pitcher, a few intimate lettersfly away as birds, written in the language of water.
Flowing across the breast of the R̥-manobi in the bridal chamber,
the leaves from the story of the wild rose in the eyes of the forest doe
cause no loss of life.
A blue whale rises
from the Pacific Ocean and plays football
with a village boy. Then no one remembers
the cup of the melancholy emperor. On the restless heads
of cows and buffaloes, I too keep sprinkling holy water
and continue searching for
the botanical life of unmarried kholamkuchis.
Citizen rain and those khichuri days
had increased the fertility
of my disappearance
Poetry by sinha murari
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Written on 2026-09-07 at 05:40
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