Just why do I scratch out these impotent words
deface such immaculately virginal paper?
Words are neither bread nor water
syllables do not give shelter.
Outside my window an exploding India
cataclysms of nature, rape in the estuary
Circumspect, moon-white, an artifact of fear,
rooted in sinister country five miles out of Jhansi,
a resthouse, carelessly abandoned by the British.
By day, desolate grasses blew,
globed fruit dropped heavily to the ground;
by night, the aged careta [...]