Gandhi Market

Amidst evening and footpath stalls,

the toy-sellers have their wares out.

My mother will buy me a gift

for my birthday, any toy I want.

There are buildings and there

are lights and there are people.

The sky changes from blue to pink

all along the stretch of concrete.

God’s hand runs over it, I think.

God’s palm that is making the sky

change colour,

and on my own palm

I have an aeroplane rolling,

sparks of gold fly in its red windows.


The above poem is from my first collection Reeling (2012).

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s