Pune 41

A small boy screaming.
Asking God to return early
the next year.
His voice,
both shrill and feeble was
making the building
people laugh.
Perseverance such,
they said.

God, in the meantime,
was drowning.
In his many clothes,
green, yellow glitters.
Turning red under
water, turning clay,
turning mud
in the wrought iron
water tank.

The boy stood watching the
eternal’s
annihilation. Sadness
replacing fervour.
Parents took him
back home promising
the next day
they’d buy
him a Superman doll.



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