PEREGRINATIONS

Smooth glossy skin Uncovered head Pant-encased legs Unhidden bosom Eyes that meet Lips that speak What a creature! Touch that skin Pull that hair Stroke that bottom Pinch that breast Bite those lips She doesn’t mind She likes it She’s a siren The black ebony skin Straight backbone Thick curly hair Big black eyes Strong backs, long legs What a creature! Lower those eyes Load those backs Work those legs Tame that hair Flay that skin Break those bones He doesn’t mind He’s made for this He is a beast The filthy clothes Grimy face Hungry mouths Runny noses Cunning eyes Smelly babies What creatures! Push them Shove them Hug them Thrash them Evict them House them Throw them some food They don’t mind They eat off the ground They are animals  The ill-kempt body Matted hair Suspicious eyes  darting back and forth Blabbering mouth Shouting now, sobbing next What a creature! Poke them Tease them Chase them Kick them Feed them Lock them up Throw them out They don’t mind They’ve lost their ...

I take my car out A couple of late walkers  striding with determination to nowhere The ubiquitous phone in one hand blaring a monotone the path to spiritual salvation A stick in the other, that gives an air of purpose Is useful for hitting out at the strays that inhabit the same roads they walk on   I turn into the main street, and merge with the traffic The road is two lanes but cars decree four, the cars, the scooters, the bikes, the buses The footpath is decorated  Stacks of pottery for sale,  a barber, a sprinkling of urine  The car and the bus honk in unison at those who inhabit  the world outside their windows the school-kids trying to cross the road the men and women rushing to work   I arrive at the intersection The garbage dump is strategically placed As if an exhibit  of the innards of our life Sifting and sorting reclaiming to life, the condemned to rot the ragpicker is elbow-deep He shoves at the cow that inhabits the same space  ...

The woman sat in the stuffed chair The stuffed chair sat in the cold corner of the room A prime spot when the day is young and the sun is pouring from the east But as the day ages, the shadows lengthen, the air cools It still sits there, in that cold corner The dog positioned himself on the floor  In that patch of sunlight  That gained entry through the open door And with every stretch and shake of his body He moved a few centimetres, with the sun The story began without much ado Setting the pace to slow and predictable The woman read aloud and the dog listened with eyes shut Perhaps to better picture the scene set by the author The story took a turn The dog sat up The tale heated up, the plot thickened The dog gravitated towards the heat Alert and captivated he sat with his eyes glued to the woman’s moving lips That is when tragedy struck and all was lost The book came down slowly The dog found his head resting on her thighs Her hands tired from holding the book up Too rested...