Aagash Vadera – The Other Day


So, the other day
I walked past a small tree
with a small bundle of rags
sleeping in the shade

some time later,
the rags were unmoved
bunched up against the bark
like cowering children

I sometimes see that
the fibres fix together
like a carcass, half buried
in wet earth and root.

and I wondered one day,
when the bleached sun beat,
whose ungrateful back
had been lent their warmth,
carried home, sticky with sweat
and embraced?

but every passing eye
that waits for the bus
misses the space in between
as if it wasn’t real

for, it occurred to me
it wasn’t, really,
a stain can be harmless
if no one can see it

and then last night
(like every night, perhaps)
the monument arose and
shook off its rusty leaves,
then, framed in the moonlight
it crossed to a new home
and left me waiting, under the tree.


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