Where we come from

songs feed in the drought
no matter rain has forgotten us for four years
children, and sand, still dance on the street
no one asks them to stop or follow someone else’s rhythm
where we come from
rajasthan – the land of kings
drinking water bursts from taps only from 5 to 7 am,
otherwise, a teasing trickle
(that is if the black market water suppliers have not sprung a leak in the pipeline diverting water to the town bully who’s already paid his best friend’s cousin to install a generator in the back so when the rest of the town flickers tentatively the bully’s home lights up like diwali evening)
where incense curls around housewives
tickling their wary earlobes
a minute between many chores
where holy smells like cardamom, carrots and cream cooking into halwa
where halwa tastes like secrets sown under tongues
where we come from
just a little is always more than enough to feed anyone who stops by
where we come from
poems live in hands
offering fragrant water
in drought