Say I was a sea captain in that life.
Say I sailed a barkentine, the Eloise,
on the Azores run out of Lisbão.

I was a sea captain in that life.
I sailed a barkentine, the Eloise,
on the Azores run out of Lisbão.
I found a green disc under my bunk
and instantly knew its use.

You have taken my books.
You're no sea captain.
The color you paint your toenails
is that of weathered brass.
The salt on your neck
and in your navel tastes
vaguely impure, like spray - delicious.

Say I was a sea captain.
Say I had a dinghy named 'Alouette.'

I was a sea captain.
I had a dinghy the crew called 'Woody.'
She sang when the wind stroked her ribs
and the spars rattled. Never mind.

Never mind the night breezes off Mosquito Island,
the roll of the berth as we lay
at anchor in North Sound
plotting our run to Anegada
so you could see Pomato Point
and what the chart called 'numerous coral heads.'
That morning, with Fallen Jerusalem
to port, you said four prayers, one each
to your gods and a last one to Sunday,
which you had neglected for years.

The swell in Drake's Channel is rising.
It will rise all through the night,
and if we are not too drunk on this fine black ***
we will rise with it.

Over the years I stop at that point
only to board a vessel
to the other side of the river
for further journey to the sea
but for the brief period of waiting
I keep pondering about the name of the place

Harwood Point.

Who was this Harwood?
what was he doing here?
what good deed made him deserving
to name the place after him?

I am still baffled
after a quarter of a century.

Googling throws up many Harwoods
dead and distinguished
but there's no clue to connect any of them with
Harwood Point.

I imagine he was one of the administrators
who left the shore of England
to be stationed at this place a century or two ago
then a tract of almost inaccessible jungle
for surveying the prospects of trade
for the East India Company
but that leads me to further questions.

Was he a noble soul that loved the place
and came to like the people there
so much so that the natives after his departure
made his name permanently etched there?

Or was he among those typical British Officers
who vented their wrath for having been interned
to a god forsaken mangrove wilderness
treated the natives with extreme disdain
proving himself worthy of his position
and duly rewarded by his masters
by making him a part of history
ironically undefined and unrecorded.

I love to think though
on a night when the moon
made the tide rebellious
he walked into the river
and was lost for good
and to this day none knows for sure
what happened to Mr. Harwood.

Radheshyam

ninety years
and hasn't won one transaction.

He has lost each and every dealing

failed business
lost job
broken family

down in everything

smiled upon only in mocking
looked upon only with pity
befriended only to be exploited

poor in maths
always ended up on the wrong side of measurement

fool in love
her woman bore the child of another

unskilled in societal ways
cursed by one and all

and to top it all
he wasn't clever enough to know
why it were so
he wanted to reach out to everyone
but none could reach out to him.

Radheshyam
named after god
but never someone's god

ninety years of being a loser
he doesn't feel.

The stray animals and birds love him much.

He feeds them,
they repay with love.