Lord Jagannath, the God with half-done Limbs
When my words are overcooked
in the double-tongued obscurity
of the opaque heart
whatís the need for grief or alarm,
independence or the lack of sovereignty,
the heavy golden jewelry, the saving accounts,
the artificial hair of my neighboring beauty,
the moon, the calendar on the table, my
Omega-3 tablets, love, lust
or even poetry?
Mother! Why doesnít He have complete limbs?
Who left Him like this--half-done?
Why is he a cavernous black?
Why are his eyes always swollen and unblinking?
I search for answers in my
intrepid, unfazed heart,
nonchalant at the naked rooms;
I think of children whom the world
because they have derelict or half-done limbs.
The dark-skinned who have a
a frozen-time. I ponder over their providence.
Their ancient limbs and face
spinning into a papyrus.
Itís convergence my son! Itís His way of
humanizing the mechanics of tolerance.
The Lord of the Universe, Lord Jagannath,
sans complete limbs, with an ugly face,
ogling, unblinking eyes and a dark skin, is
the most charming of them all.
The first light of
the parapets of the opaque,
even without orders from above.