My lips wanted to fall in love
My lips wanted to fall in love,I did not want to, but just as the milk
boiled over from the pot on the stove, a bitter smell—
Poems fly around gravity.
Walking down the road, I stumble,
fall flat on my face.
Borrowing a breath from the eyes of a bee,
I think there are some memories, some fantasies,
that remain with the mother of spinach.
The drunkard is singing as he staggers along.
A sacred bull stands in the middle of the road,
and with a belly full of hunger, I return home.
One side is hollow within,
the other filled with hypocrisy.
The fallen condition of the Harijans does not end.
Sometimes I think, My Lord,
how many geniuses are swarming all around me,
so why am I stumbling when I go to the grocery shop?
Sunlight comes through
the branches and leaves of the neem tree, broken sunlight.
The mute becomes articulate,
they begin to speak, to tell stories.
A monsoon night. Dense darkness. A village road. Water and mud.
Fireflies in the bushes. The croaking of frogs. Crickets.
The smell of the primordial earth drifts through the air.
Humans have created cities; there are no humans in the cities.
Some strange creatures live in the civic zoo.
My poor verbs cannot touch them.
Poetry by sinha murari
Written on 2026-09-09 at 04:42
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