dogs nose in the putrid garbage along the Vishnumati river,
faint bhajans
drift from the Swayambhu hill

on a drowsy day like today,
it is easy to pile the endless drowsy days
of a numberless number of people into a heap

on a drowsy day
it is easy to drool and doze,
bits and pieces of longing
banking up in a corner of the mind
as the head does U-turns
on the pillow

in a scratchy Skype session in a scratchy Thamel cafe
my daughter in Australia conjures up a kaleidoscope of cartoons
she and her mother wear Gaddafi/Cleopatra/Roy Orbison hair-dos
while skating on surfboards

time may be at a standstill
but Dante’s ‘love that moves the sun and stars’
still moves