hathailiyan ke mehndi halki hoike gayaab
ii sarirwa mein bhala kaa tikaav
You will your house of clay and breath
a fortress. One day, ash and smoke will play fire
games in the courtyard. Remember this hovel
is of five senses —
Does wind stay trapped in a room when its windows
yawn? Without country it flows as river water,
a traceless origin. How can this structure
of earth and bone be home? Says Kabir, “However
beautiful — gold or silver — when the cage
door cracks what bird stays inside?”
The palm’s mehndi lightens then disappears;
what permanence is in your body?
Copyright © 2019 Rajiv Mohabir. This poem originally appeared in Kenyon Review, January/February 2019. Used with permission of the author.