Tell Me, You Who Know
you who know of poetry –
I know nothing of it
but I know what rasam is.
Do you think it’s a mere nothing?
It calls for a blend
of the principles of water,
aroma and essence –
a tempered state reached after simmering . . .
Thus . . .
There it was in the corner,
a container with rasam,
on a seemingly dead and ash-covered
coalfire, waiting and waiting . . .
Does it matter that it waits?
In the great durbar of meat dishes
seasoned with spices that sparkled,
of servers who danced as they walked,
of laughter and ...