southern breezes -
beside the tracks
the fields lie waiting
in anticipation of nothing in particular,
brush dusted
the freed crust
on which people squat
becomes a plain
a few miles down the road,
red soil in a heat that boils
making you crouch low
as you go in your dream
another one of a countless number,
and many more dreams
will see you pulled toe first
if you’re lucky -
an infant into another world
until you rumble
your stretch of slumber
- from Poems from India 2002
