Pune, 2020
She shaves her underarms
else a cactus garden.
With a blue pint of Riband
he waters
the plants.
Mops the floor
with an 'I LOVE YOU' T-shirt.
Ironing, she notices
her panties have rips.
Notices her skin is pale
under nails,
with fungus,
while he burpees,
squat-jumps
in front of the wall.
Let him fall,
let him fall,
the obstinate boy: she prays.
For his ears are
full of wax.
He takes out the ukulele
in the evening. Just like that.
Strokes and strums.
She sees a bunch
of babies floating
and a branch
of Chrysanthemum,
in the sky.
Is it safe
to go
to Tokyo? She asks.
Tokyo? He snorts.
At this time
it's not safe to go
anywhere.
I know, I know,
I am just curious
about Tokyo,
she says
before yawning.
In the night, in a dream,
a sweet gourd moon.
A dark car whooshes
by, a man in Irezumi-
tattoo screams
and he points a gun at her.
Going some place, sweetheart?
He barks.
I don't know. She smiles,
Tokyo.
I am going to Tokyo. But,
my face is blistered,
my soul is red beet black.
My heart is trudging
along the indifferent
alley of love.
Where are you going? She asks.
The man laughs,
says,
I am going with you.
A rainbow cat
above the stars –
suddenly a dragon dancing.
An ash-clad girl flaunts
a heart and wants a vicious man
in sobriety.
Tempting
in his
temporariness.
Her body is trembling
against the hint
of a pagoda-full of love.
Where a soft stream has
ceased to be to an ocean,
at the brim,
under a bridge
of bamboo stems.
She is laughing:
Tokyo,
here I come.
_________
Arun Paria lives in Pune, India. His poems have been published in ‘The Bombay Literary Magazine’, ‘nether Quarterly’, ‘Yearbook of Indian Poetry in English 2021’, and the Sahitya Akademi’s ‘Indian Literature’.