SoMa Literary Review - Sunday Afternoon

Sunday Afternoon

By Ashok Niyogi

Cows stare
At hoses graze
On San Francisco
Water Department land,
The lake runs away
Into gullies made by hills,
Disappears,
Comes back again
And runs away.

A pair of eagles
Sleep on a gray black
Rock slab,
Hills on the far bank
Drink in the sun.

We went by Mission Peak,
Widowed somewhat,
By a rock slide
One decade ago.

This undivided road
Winds its way to Livermore,
Destination Hindu temple,
Tonsured priests
With lots of body hair,
Dusty car park,
Wash your feet
For evening prayer.

Circumlocute the ‘Planet’ deities
Seven times,
Not eight, not nine,
Your palms on the divine glow,
Then on your thinning software hair,
Sprinkled with the water of peace,
Chanting in Sanskrit,
(A language long dead)
Used by poets nowadays,
To preface inadequate poems.

There must be meaning after all;
It is,
Just that we don’t understand.

Neither does the lake.

Ashok was born in Calcutta in 1955. These days he divides his time California, Russia and India. He is currently unemployed because writing poetry is not considered gainful employment. He is the author of the book Tentatively.