The Tandoor-Rising (A Response To The Nithari Killings)
In the melting sun I stand
thickening the crumb of skin
becoming an aloe vera:
human cactus with orange peel.
‘Call me chicken call me paneer
I wear my heart like the desert queen,
in anklets and silver bangles.’
Sizzling as I die
minute by minute, noon by noon,
through the tired enduring night.
Singing in shallow oils of the moon-plunged saucer
my skirts tucked in, I sit nymph-like
upon the edge of your platter.
Call me chicken call me paneer
I wear my heart ...