the air is fried. Summer's sun
hits sharply at the kadhai,
oil waves lapping at its edge
golden buoys bobbing
at its heart
The day's charade
is just stirring: in these
cracks between acts
bread pakodas are eaten
and chai is sipped
The farce is played out
by afternoon, we are stuffed
battered and simmered low
daily disquiets steeped
then sweetened and dissolved,
renotified to the next date
the frying of the oily bread-pakodas and their eating carries all the disquiet and deferment that the poem is about.
ReplyDeleteExcellently crafted and how powerfully that last stanza brings everything together. Wow!
ReplyDeleteThis is very powerful in its contrasts and all that simmers underneath.
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