A stainless steel tumbler
slightly out of shape,
slightly ridiculous, on a varnished table.
Seven-thirty in the morning,
chalk steam rising from sleep,
stretching out of its metallic bed,
yawning-standing tall,
to pull in cool gale
before stepping in the wind,
the speck of world behind it
trembling and transluscent.
Niveous cloud-
twisting, turning, sommersaulting, swaying vapour,
most delicate feather-
dispersing at my breath.
Constant change-
now a whirlpool,
now a flat white flora,
now an old woman with blowing hair,
now a white Oscar award.
Modern art-
careless brush taking a careless path,
moving, dissolving, disappearing,
dispersing at my breath,
as I bring the container to my lips.
Smooth white milk slides down my throat.
Maa, I feel your warm love flow in my veins.
(Smriti Jaiswal, 2002)
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on what life meant to make out of faith
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this is great.
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