Tuesday, January 7, 2014

The Old Gatekeeper

The latitude and longitude of the bamboo
he carries is his twin
on his sojourns uninvited and unintended
from the giant green gate
to another metal head
a black bulwark.

His days are distasted by the sounds of his snores
sometimes seen in a discourse of doings
like cremating a pyre of wood
to warm his bones
performing “Surya Namaskar”
on a morning that promises him nothing
puffing his bidi roll
with smoggy susurration

On a night littered with waking dreams
and stories untold,
he ambles on the path
lined with neem and peepal
baby sitting cars of various shapes and sizes
having force fed insomnia that chokes
he is a slave sold to
hunger’s hubristic appetite
the child of a night’s calling.


Anonymous said...

Really loved this one. Good choice of subject for this poem. And "...baby sitting cars..." is so very clever!

Geetika Kohli said...

Moving indeed. Sounds effortless.