There the parijat flowers lie on the earth ,
Their faces in the dust, feet to the sky.
Someone’s cut flower creeper still fills
The air with previous night’s fragr’nce.
On the hills ,from a balcony ,a dark woman
Looks down as if expecting the milkman.
There a man is up in arms against the sun.
A w’man froths at mouth with toothpaste.
Words remain,as many scraps of memory.
An image or two vanishes in the wilderness;
Its fragrance stays as unrealized poetry.