Notes on Longings

I
The rains
have melted
the lowly roadside dust
of Thanga-Karang
creating a pasty puddle
that cling to your shoes,
the edge of your trousers
or sprayed in little brown droplets
by your sandals
all over the back of your legs
I wish my insignificance
would dye you
like the muddy droplets,
all over you,
without you knowing
I would merge with your garb;
without you thinking,
you would breathe in
the odour of my earth
soaked with the first rains of Lamta

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