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Showing posts from March, 2009

Morning poems from Rajasthan

  Bara Bagh Cenotaphs:    Life still sounds within the empty golden tombs jutting out from sand and stones and skeletal broken twigs  First customers for the guide - 50 rupees, first customer - 30 rupees please  The broken tooth gravestones stand askew among the yawning columns as sparrows call from dome to dome  The guides flit, shadows watching like the ghosts long since moved on.  Next first customer arrives - he goes.  There is no death here - only absent memory created and left.  It's all gone to pieces.  ***    Villages:    Brushwood doors and log piles  Mud huts and domes of dung  Two boys sit in limpid shade of a scrub tree  The desert sand stretches out a dusty minefield  So much sand - what do they do?  The men have left for the city -  Women, children and the old are left now.  We are the ghouls watching the poverty in this village of the hopeless  Locked away safe be...