They came in a boat for Kamala Sundari
sieving water layer by layer
when the wind rose
the oars were legs, also their hands when stretched
The boats they built later were not for her
the waters they slashed was a mingled song
Kamala Sundari stared in death when they came
her face marigold her body wooden planks
Badar Badar Ghazi Ghazi
Badar Badar Ghazi Ghazi
And Kamala Sundari gazed outside for long
a little window past the halflong orchards
past the Cherrapunji clouds of clamour
past those roads where boats became legs
water was dust and greens were tangled lines
amid all, her steps each a slash on the seas
Legs that grew to be tall buildings
little buildings concrete buildings
legs that became pillars, posts and pipes
standing in an acid moon they were shadows
with legs that forgot to have their feet
toes that could wriggle out of mossy pools
Badar Badar Ghazi Ghazi
Badar Badar Ghazi Ghazi
And Kamala Sundari sang first in a whisper
she then sang out loud, forgetting the words
because words were off on their legs by then
becoming oars, rowing boats in a frantic grace
they were all expected to be so beautiful
just like Kamala Sundari, were expected to go
from town to town, boring into root to root –
Oh so frantic, oh so hundred-oared.
