Poems

The Bad God

First I arranged the pottu.
Then thin smelling
jasmine on the vine, and marigolds
I collected together.
 
Green, yellow, blue, purple
coloured tattooed butterflies
around the house
flew and flew
filling it with their music.
 
Every moment around you.
 
Around you as I grew
you said:
this life
and all lives
I do not touch the dirt.
 
Yes.
You will never become
a god
 
in the village they say.