puff puff clouds in the sky
like the saddhus by the temple
and mountains in the distane
coconut pujas and rice for the gods
the reds of the tikas and blood of animals
mixing around me
the colors all get lost in the ocean of excitement
and everything becomes
god
like the smoke of burning garbage and that of fuel for food
and the soot covered figures emerging from the flames.
****
if all the greens in the world were put together in a city
they still would not compare to the shades of the village
the long bamboo and skinny wheat grow high
prickly cactus and marshy terraces
the sharp contrast of the bright dresses against the tall grass
the music of the river rushing against the rocks
and children with full bellies racing in the distance
the sounds of the city are that of hunger and despair
it is the ralization in this day and age
that you have left your garden of eden
and are standing naked against the attempts to achieve
with the rest of the world around you pointing at your immodesty.
