CROSSWAYS AT AGRA




                                   ‘Don’t make my people beggars!’
                                    Kangana shows me that bazaar in Agra.
                                    God!  Urchin eyes smiling, snaggled teeth, mouth jiggered.
                                    I shudder and turn away, a cold, disdainful raja.

                                    Kangana shows me that bazaar in Agra.
                                    ‘Chapati!  Chapati!’ plead two gaunt chits with grimy face.
                                    I shudder and brush aside, a cold, disdainful raja.
                                    And off I stride annoyed with quickening pace.

                                    ‘Chapati!  Chapati!  plead two gaunt chits with grimy face.
                                    Tiny hands snatch, clinging to my shirt.
                                    And off I stride annoyed with quickening pace.
                                    Their family pick rubbish from the gutter, hurt.

                                    Tiny hands snatch, clinging to my shirt.
                                    O the stab of guilt, the sting of remorse.
                                    Their family pick rubbish from the gutter, hurt.
I loathe that hard heart within, hardship’s source

                                    The stab of guilt, the sting of remorse.
                                    Make token bow by the shrine of Durga.
                                    I loathe that hard heart within, hardship’s source                                                                                ‘Don’t make my people beggars!’

                                                                                                Michael Small
                                    March 14-21, 2009

                                    pub. Poetry Matters, issue 7, autumn, 2009

                                   




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