MAHA VISHUBHA SAMKRANTI/
I had sent out messages of the day
to so many. I don’t remember.
Notices of delivery and failure
clutter my memory, and there
might be other messages too,
pending under the lunar air.
How easily people mellow
under the wisdom of the years,
the plain possibility of birth
and crucifixion, simultaneously,
the vision of their own destinies!
It is getting evening now
and I still wait for return messages
to arrive, stealthily, as they
always do, declaring arrivals
and departures and all that come
in between—our naïve, daily acts
of presumption, immaculate faith.