Gods with four heads, ten hands
how many hearts have you?
and how many feet to bear you away
to refuge when there is a storm?
on my two feet I bring
two hands in prayer
to the poison-purpled god
and his throat-kissing snake
lay down my life folded
like a Japanese fan
at his water-logged feet
to tell him it’s stopped working
and wait to hear it is karma
or some such thing
that my life is fanning out
to a music not its own, destined
I ask if I can change the music
he offers to change my ears
so I can get used to it
and even shuffle to its beat
I bring away my fan unrepaired
my new ears uncomplaining
of the dying man’s cry, now unheard
and no god need put in a word
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
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