• Vol. 05
  • Chapter 08


I run round the house of longing,
fling wide each door, yellow light
from a window, slides to grey
on a ceiling, till a shower-room
on the landing, where I swivel
the spray as I rub bhandara,
the tuber’s paste, into sunshine in water.

Jejuri Temple, rises from the steam,
herb and jaggery pancakes, love-tokens
of turmeric root, tied round our wrists
by the faithful, a sky full of gold stitches,
our eyelids like a bee’s back, thick
with pollen, our faces, dripping happiness.