Poetry

It was dull green 
under the weather, 
foliage of a tall weeping Ashoka. 
 
All day the sun had beaten down mercilessly 
At night, under the shimmering shade of stars 
somebody left a body of a child 
wrapped in a red rag at the foot of the giant, 
where the roots were jutting out from earth like a basket 
to receive a birthday present. 
 
A gift from a veiled shame. 
Shutting out the breath, 
a purple death by asphyxiation 
A pink doll: mist draped in dew and flower. 
Death was no stranger 
among the saints and beasts. 
 
Stone to stone, 
stunned me. 
I was discovering the life.