Before The Death Rattle

Once rice plants in golden
frocks danced on my lap.
And I was proud.

Now the weeds dry my
veins.

Once reapers, bending like
the sickles, lulled me with
their bucolic songs. And I
snoozed under the paddy
fragrance.

Now I wake up frightened
by the ‘profit – talks’.

Once the ecstatic moon
rose above the rhythms of
the night. Moonlight was so
charming with some
magnetic eyes. And I held
my chest as a stage for your
dancers and singers.

Now your nostalgia is
twined around me.

Once the monsoon hid me
deep under the water –
fishes and frogs enjoyed
their carnival. And I was
tickled by the floating
canoes.

Now an architect stares at
me. A tipper lorry vomits
the sand and stones on my
face. I die leaving a furrow
in your mind.

*A dying paddy farm in Kerala, India is the speaker. This poem
was first printed in Off the Coast (Spring 2015 issue), US, and
then reprinted in The Literary Hatchet by Pear Tree Press, and
also in my book, Kanoli Kaleidoscope by punkswritepoemspress,
both US.