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