Around Yourself: Poem

Here, bovine deities roam the potholed roads

Panting with thirst and burning

In the arid sun, crazed with pangs of hunger

Distraught and homeless

They roam, for it is allowed

Here, there is strength in the masses

And the masses are endless

In dirt and rags

Hanging among dying crops

Under cracked roofs

Without blankets or fire or

The hums and buzzes of wires from

Metal towers overhead

Around leftover rain puddles

And streams of defilement

They crumble en masse, for it is allowed

Here, stand in temples the marbled

Goddesses

Garlanded with weapons extraordinaire

Worshipped with silk, jewels, and all the ostentations

Yet no hymns or prayers reach the descendants of these immortals

Their minds only as free as their dwelling’s doors let them be

Vows of solace seldom fulfilled

My hands as blood-stained as yours

The gender a chasm apart

Always a victim, always a villain

Always broken, always twisted

And never enough

Still the devotees find reason to flock,

For it is allowed