there was no power
from my Mumbai hotel I
could see the stream of people
in the narrow street below
a cart carrying the dead listed
and nearly toppled over
the ox pulling it did not stop
dragging the askew carriage along
passersby steered clear of the primitive hearse
knowing it carried the curse, the fever felling the denizens
of this muggy megapolis
a plague harvesting souls
quicker than they could be burned
the Mithi was thick with their ashes,
diluted only by tears of the mourners
who harbored fears they would be next
I was there, a helpless healer;
a doctor turned detective, running
a race to find a cause, a miracle cure
all my potions impotent,
all my staring at slides a lesson
in limitations, ignorance--a discovery
of crawling creatures too miniscule
to be dissected, too beguiling to be
understood
my eyes were tired of looking
at the tiny death moguls and their victims
my ears weary of the entreaties for relief
from suffering
yet I stood and watched, one wagon
after another, carrying carrion for the pyres
I prayed the power would stay off,
for light would have shone on me:
a curious survivor, unworthy of whatever
grace kept me from the heaps of lifeless
limbs bound for the fires of the night
Apr 7, 2018
Apr 7, 2018 at 11:34 PM UTC
there was no power
from my Mumbai hotel I
could see the stream of people
in the narrow street below
a cart carrying the dead listed
and nearly toppled over
the ox pulling it did not stop
dragging the askew carriage along
passersby steered clear of the primitive hearse
knowing it carried the curse, the fever felling the denizens
of this muggy megapolis
a plague harvesting souls
quicker than they could be burned
the Mithi was thick with their ashes,
diluted only by tears of the mourners
who harbored fears they would be next
I was there, a helpless healer;
a doctor turned detective, running
a race to find a cause, a miracle cure
all my potions impotent,
all my staring at slides a lesson
in limitations, ignorance--a discovery
of crawling creatures too miniscule
to be dissected, too beguiling to be
understood
my eyes were tired of looking
at the tiny death moguls and their victims
my ears weary of the entreaties for relief
from suffering
yet I stood and watched, one wagon
after another, carrying carrion for the pyres
I prayed the power would stay off,
for light would have shone on me:
a curious survivor, unworthy of whatever
grace kept me from the heaps of lifeless
limbs bound for the fires of the night
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