By Saranyan Bv
Drunken cockroach in my wine glass Dear Panchami, Today I woke with a new angle to look at the way The world revolves. Panchami, don’t get hassled about my drinking, Things could have been worse like for the cockroach I met this morning After I got off the bed. By the way Panchami, how are you? How sound was your sleep? Let me know. The lone cockroach, Americana Periplaneta, Suffering loneliness like I do Had fallen last night In my empty cup of wine. Oh Panchami, my soul, As you always complain I had forgotten to clear the table. There was this residue of that purple vintage That stayed in the cup through the warm night, Upon which, the roach floated On its dorsal, looking up, Beating its six legs, two antennas Like old women in old days When someone old died. Dear Panchami, I didn’t want to play God, Didn’t upturn the fellow, I let him remain In that unfussy state of combat with air. Panchami, my soul which stands apart, I didn’t want to play the devil either, Didn’t want to reclaim him From his stuporous state of inebriation Where the universe seems faultless. Dear Panchami, After all he chose to drink, Partake a sip of the Bacchus without encroaching into mine. What if I didn’t clear the table Put away the empty glass, wash, dry And stack it where you always did. Dear Panchami, We are not here in this infinitesimal life To play God or Devil, judge and judge not. I am sure you are angry, but please.…. I don’t even ask your forgiveness Dear Panchami. For I don’t want to let you suffer the burden of Judging and being entangled In matters of judgement knots. Roaches are survivors Panchami! So am I.
Saranyan BV is poet and short-story writer, now based out of Bangalore. He came into the realm of literature by mistake, but he loves being there. His works have been published in many Indian and Asian journals. He loves the works of Raymond Carver.