14th June, Khurkhul

Two drunken animals argued

Over morality and plurality of this land.

Slowly the red bottle turn white.

And the white polythene collapsed

As if it can’t bear our stories.

We stopped arguing,

We said to each other

“We are such a thoughtful animal

That we talk of politics

That we hate so much

Even at this stage of drunkenness”

And Deepak said “This is the time we exercise freedom”

So we threw the cigarette in rain

And jumped into the pukhri

Played like little ducks

Deepak popped up like bubbles

Here and there

His tired potato farming hands

Made the pond a place of storm

a place of waves

the waves that has no beginning and no endings

And he owned the moment.

Two wet soul sat in rain on the thonga

Wearing the smallest khudei on earth

We looked away

As the water droplets blurred our views.

The wet ploughed field opened to us

With its shallow water reflecting the bluish

nothingness of the sky.

We could smell the mud and its shallow water.

Deepak again said,

”Now I do not care of tomorrow.

If I die bury my heart in this field

Sow my soul in this field

Grow my hands in this field

Fix my eyes to the hills to watch this field.”

And the next moment

Our cars howled down the road

And we faded away

To the valley of artificial green

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