the tea garden irony

 

a stench pool of urinals
in coached motion
some burnt out sooty notes,  rarely bru coffees
of zigzagging chaiwalas
Arabian sea breeze breathed through slanted shutter slits
in stammering desperations
darkness lullabies hid Hyde-awoken halfminds in opendromes
gang of pilgrimaging black drapes
in chandans and maalas
eyed mischievous on 'targets'

and she felt to be one
with a strange inner giggle
damned.   her long estrangements
unleashing.   the least expected
a preying animal in deer skins passed them.  in silence
as if victimized

as far as the mission, ran on her unslept
owled eyes over trivial paused stations
the one such spot, her destination, assumed globe
hung over her redflagged grey cells

smoothened end of that loop
hardly matched the looming blankness
the more so victorious mission looked pathetic
her bland carriage needed no pat and palanquins
moved on.  and on
the frozen casket.    in undevised pathways


but where were the tagged ghats?
with silveroaked serpentine tea garden routes
alongside banded and tapped rubbers and the nutmegs
steaming puttus, fish curries and malabar teas

buried curiosities.
an unclassified survival.    in god's own country