1
Hearing
the languid song
of birds
you look up
and see
like slices of lime
placed
on the gold rim
of your glass
by that extravagant
barista in the big hotel
three
green parakeets
resting
on a sun-gilded wire
2
Like a dishevelled
starving
and losing army
Faces released
from the extravagant smiles
they pay out all day
to gather up
enough rupees
to eat some dahl
in an outdoor kitchen
Hordes are coming
wrapped in burlap
shrouds
ingeniously made
from sacks too holed
to carry another load
of chilis or rice
And stand
like wraiths from a netherland
gloomy and apart
in the sudden dark
the wintry vapours
of a Delhi night
to feed.
Being grateful
we like to think is important
in their creed.
Grim picnickers,
they wear no look
of gratitude.