Treasure Island

Prabhakar Subramaniam


Darshan


The old woman
In fading white blouse
And dull green saree
Kept away by the police barricades
Sits with hope
With her unsold flowers
Her sacred ash-smeared forehead
Without the kumkum
And bare neck
Keeps away the superstitious
I'm drawn by her never-say-die smile
As bewitching as the jasmine
Strung and ready to wear
Mocking death with its fragrance
I do not bargain
As I watch her measure
Liberally with her arm
I turn home
Without entering the temple
Her blessing
Ringing in my ears.

Submitted: Thursday, February 28, 2013
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