She's dressed in green
darker shade
a red blot
blood red
is carvedon her wrinkled forehead
her eyes stare wideat you
her masculine arms
spread wide at you
the end of her saree
between them'Aaicha jogavaa de'
alms in the name of Mother
she blurts out in voice
thicker than yours
you are tempted to look at her
closely
her gunny
bag hair
look patted over the head
and her cheeks
show reminants of a stubble
shaved early in the morning
she repeats
'Aaicha jogava de'
alms in the name of mother
you turn a deaf year
no change lady!!!
she frowns
'you'll be born
in my sect
in your next life'
she curses
what are we anyways???
You ask yourself
and look around.

Tea and cigarettes
He knows what sell the most
together
an undeniable combination
like body and soul
inside his shack
rest the gods
admist the variety
of smoke sticks
small and tall
A sleepy Ganapati on a shelf
A meditative Shankar on another
A compassionate Sai Baba
peeps through a frame
And a three headed Datta Guru
accompanied by his pet puppies
reclining on his cow
all looking out
to bless him
to blend the right mix
of tea and sugar and milk
on the same wall
the taaboot of mecca is sorrounded
by numerous those
who visit
from corners of the world
for the moment of accomplishment
and besides the shiva
is a darga
a bed
festooned with flowers
mortal body
of an immortal soul
resting
above all is a moon
like a sickle blade
holding a star
in his womb
and an Om
with thousand meaning
one of them
being to welcome gods
Waheguru doesn't stay back in the race
and joins the holy party
and guess who's hanging on the wall beside
yes!!!!
It's our Jesus
hung heartlessly
to the cross
keen to disconnect him
from the corporeal
Seeing the shack
Some expirience the urge
to question him
to which religion
does he belong
how to classify him
know the brand of his blood
before their tounges
touch the surface
of the tea
in their tiny cut glasses
and he replies
"Chai!!!"