What’s this
cursed life,
We count
our blessings
By the tumblers
where we know not
or how much a tumbler means
We wash
conscience on rocks by river beds,
hang em on
clothesline with
dry-flake crow-shit
Check
the scent of the detergent
later in sun-burnt evenings
To assess
how much laundering
Your life is spiced with;
We spend weekends,
there are timetables
for these errands
To dust down
the cobwebs
hanging from
the ceiling
I wish the cobweb
lines are dyed
in colours of gold or rainbow –
We won’t be
so much sinning
as massacring spiders
Living in space where we no longer have right, use, or easy access
And yet
itemised to kill.
~Saranyan Bv
Bangalore, India