Hanuman Puja Poem by Rajiv Mohabir

For Kazim

Sunrise ocher marks
the river's forehead,

wet dhotis betray supplicants
bare as opaque windows,

their secrets. It's no secret,
my petals wreath

my crown in marigold, a glow
I've nursed into nova

when I cracked, from drought,
my pericarp, thirsty for God.

I have always been
a honey man,

coat of a langur, pilgrim-
body of fruit-

offering cast onto the tongue
of deity I prayed would move

in me. No sweetmeat
to sugar the idol

carved of me. The devout
fill brass kettles,

fill God with God,
to offer running water to Sun,

as mantras insist
from the temples;

the adhan's pollen drifts—
yes, God is great.

Along the ghats
umbrellas bloom in red,

I breathe into nostrils of marble:
The name of God is Truth—

vendors hawk neem branches
to scour mouths in bitter.