saranyan bee


About Marble Game (Mumbai Monsoon) - Poem by saranyan bee

children at the marble game
marble game by the railway tracks,
tracks close to speeding suburbs
speeding ones, kissing dangers,
dangers like playing with peril
peril of marbles feeding gut worms,

fence with sharp pointed tops
indecisive spears in the arsenal,
fence which look like rail roads,
fence like water-marks on scribbling pad,
fence which offer entry and exits,
fence which protect neither the protected
nor the intruders
fence by where marbles roll,


children are instincts;
they never look behind
or ahead, only
the marbles - purple blue
like the ocean in curfew,
olive green, streaks of gold,
see- through, opaque or bold,
marbles with cracks,
craters like moon

who cares, it’s monsoon,
not to smother one room tenements
with space

the place is littered
broken bricks, discarded roof
bottles smashed in anger,
burnt lamp-wicks,
buttons snatched out in fury,
dull pails with shark jaws,
bags ripped open,
garbage of onion peels,
of fish scales, stripped fish bones,
strings of flowers refused,
string of flowers used,
news dailies with oil stain
just news bits
stories of abduction, killing
incendiary and rape
disheveled gauze
tincture benzene and blood,
dead rats, smashed roaches,
of drained water
of swollen morsels of rice.
of condoms jackets, condom skin.

they aim with one eye
about the marble to be done in,
about the speed, the spin, accuracy, the grip
fatigue in the fingers,
about marbles collected as prize money
about marbles hanging heavily in the pockets,
about marbles lost
about marbles to be won back,
about holding trousers up from falling,
about the marbles rubbing on their genitals
about the marbles held in their hand
those whose pockets have holes,
about the horn-hoots which distracts,
about the swing,
about marbles taken on loan, to be returned,
about borrowing, about the fear of failing,
about the applause, about the mockery,
about marbles, about the marble game,

there are cheer leaders,
hecklers, challengers,
mere on lookers with no seed marble,
those with shirts,
without shirts,
those without anything,
no endorsements
no TV rights
no bookies,
no bets, no abetments,

they just play for glory
they play for the marble booties
for the dreams
about winning,
winning.

BV Saranyan © July 11,2010


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Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 26, 2012



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