Hatshepsut*
In low light
the city museum walls
describe
a crime scene.
smashed statues-
broken neck, waist, knees,
the desecrated relief
of a female pharaoh
like a spiteful erasure
legitimize a male heir,
a correction against
the female power,
like a chaotic puzzle
refused to be solved
(*a female pharaoh in ancient Egypt)
City Pulsation
A potholed street learns only to redraw
the silhouettes, a needle is tying the threads,
early birds mistaking the signposts
the tombstones, the graveyards
that this city can boast.
You go to Globe Cinema, New Market,
rip open the memories of British Raj,
serpentine lanes clogging with traffic
open the city’s precious bones with your hands
and deposit in the Indian Museum.
You walk past Lal Bazar’s untangling silence,
amidst the rising echo of expletives
in the slum areas beside the old
art gallery, lonely sidewalks,
you want to speak in half-knowledge but
find no one to save from desertion.