Indian moon

March 31, 2010

When I saw her she reminded me of my own daughter, a dirty street urchin from the depths of hell in Bombay. Clad in tattered red & brown threads, and on her arms & across her chest barely able to hold on properly was a teary doe-eyed little baby. She held her dirty right palm out with a look of steely determination & hunger. I could only feel pain. She was barely 6 or so, out on the rough, unforgiving & cynical streets. At that moment I wished my own daughter were here and I would just hold her and not let go.

I wonder how she feels.

I have no future I do not think I do not know what future is I am hungry My brother cries He is hungry I am itchy My feet hurts I want that samosa in the window I do not think I am hungry I wonder if I can go to school I like that uniform she is wearing I will stay in this side of the street That uncle is scary I want to sleep on that pavement That uncle gave me 10 rupees I am hungry Mama is dead It is hot today The car nearly hit me Uncle samy promised me 100 rupees if he can hold me he says I will go tonight but I don’t like the way he touches me I want to play with that dog My brother is heavy I am hungry Where is papa I do not think My brother cries



March 15, 2010

When you could imagine in your head a particular problem, and have it play out like a picture story, you condition yourself to look for hidden traps & learn to avoid obtuse paths, with perseverance, the fruits of which strings out like a verse from a poem. a strange and elegant beauty.