At phoenix market city, velachery
you watch everything exceed
not only their pockets but their very eyes.
you watch them reach out
for something, hold it for a moment,
then drop it, as if burned by the price tag.
you watch them mock all of it
but their seriousness mocks itself.
your sister says, buy something
for me, what else is the point of your existence,
and you don’t respond
because there’s nothing you can say
which will make you feel any different
than the way they’re feeling:
lacking, unfulfilled, discontent.
you watch a boy sitting in the middle
of Reliance Trends and reading his book
but you’re too afraid to ask what he’s reading.
you know all of it is the crucifix of desire
but you can see it only in the shape of a halo
whose glow is not enough for you
to see for too long without going blind.
on the way back, at the traffic light,
in a dazzling silver font, on the bumper
of the water truck halted right next to you:
ennam pol vazhkai—life as you wish it.
***
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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