Sometimes you cannot live
and cannot die.
You snicker and snigger at yourself,
call yourself a baby-cry.
And just as you are drowning
in a vase of peonies —
You rise, choking, to the surface,
called by the tap of a bottle gourd
on the window, to verify.
You reason —
Life is Aloo Vindaloo –
no meat, but soaked in spices —
You are upset at the aloo, bleeding dry –
but you gotta give it a try!
It’s the hot stuff, burns bad, can’t get enough. – mh clay