Sunday

Sunday is the day of rest and prayers,
I read your poems on Sunday.
I find unrest and prayers,
I find prayers and tight shut eyes,
Spoonfuls of eyes and trembling hands-
Long thin fingers that can paint, can mould clay,
Can mould clay into durga, laxmi, saraswati, kartik, ganesh, mahisashur,
Can hold a fag and a candle.
I find candlelit dinners too of rice and water,
Water comes to bed with us after dinner.
We swim, we drown, we grab each others’ bones to keep afloat.
We keep afloat so you can write your poems
And I can read them, the Sunday next.