By Smitha Sehgal
when it had rained for seven days and nights,
sea came up
swallowing grey shoreline, unfurling waves
of memory, of beheaded mother
beyond asphalt road
separating ilk of sea from ilk of land
reclaiming
those days fish swam under guava trees
in our courtyard
gossiping, pausing, tasting
fire cooked grain
sand washed pristine in primal state
of sea bed, of corals, of clammed secrets
we slept floating on leaves
dreaming within dream, water flooding our lungs
limbs opened into petals
growing into night, shadow of fish
eclipsed blood moon,
carrying earth in its womb
this land claimed from sea by unquenched rage
of burning eyes, axe dripping blood, feet in long strides
of twenty-one parikramas of Vishnu Purana
afterward
we slept floating on leaves