When the crow grew raucous as if rebuking me,
I knew who would turn up at the door
It happened every time without fail.
I believed when my mother said that no one fell off
the earth. It was the night the moon’s face
reflected in her nose ring.
Bracing her shoulders she narrated
of the surge when creatures with hundred limbs
crawled between the fingers of moringa tree
and choked every passage to the lungs.
She daubed a cloth with kerosene, set them aflame
watched prayers harden like dung cake patted on the wall.
The visitor came as predicted. The fear
that swarmed the plank of my chest disappeared –
after all tales are meant to soften blows.
Poem 1 of Lockdown