by Saranyan BV
Behind the panwallah
hangs the picture of blue Shiva,
blue Shiva smiles, red Shiva is the angry portrayal
of the same Shiva;
He sits on the depleted tiger-hide mat;
in front of Him the round face
of incensed tiger, dead; yet angry as if alive;
Around the Lord’s neck
quaint, knotted, and searching the air
is the serpent with flat head.
I fondle, the ears of my spaniel are soft,
he passes under my legs
I pet him again and roll up my sleeves,
get organized to do the red crabs
brought from Vashi
gliding without fret
inside the kitchen sink.
I have no love of Shiva,
He helps me manage
the contradictions in my attachments,
that’s about all.
Saranyan BV is a Mumbai-based writer who came into the realm of literature by mistake but loves dwelling here. His poems and short stories have been published in many magazines in India and abroad.
