Going through old things I'd written, getting ready for a visit to Kolkata, I found this forgotten scrap:
The City of Contradictions
The girl walks on her knees.
Her feet end at the ankles:
she was caught in a contradiction.
People live inside the window
which is inches from your window.
From the corner of your eye
a wedding band
marching
away
from
you
The rickshaw-puller clangs his
dull bell, waiting to drag you
to the innermost chamber.
Jasmine at the burning ghat.
Friend, whose ashes are these?
