One man’s liberator
is another’s terrorist;
but life is often black and white
and frequently coloured,
necessitates killing and death
it’s a tug-o-war
with elemental configuration
battle of hook and knife,
hearth and coin
this way and that we pull
and in the play of clutch and release
probabilities and despair
the drowning on the sand
and burial at sea
the kleshas come
as wave-weave
and wind-twist
sweet nothings and bitter love
pieties and paramitaas
gathered, chopped and sold,
there is short-change in purchase
in small talk and silence.
We come from water
And like water we go
Each to a receptacle
of love and forbidding
some as fish,
some not.
[From the collection 'Some texts are made of leaves', shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2011]
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