Masthead, ship sails
now, it’s brimming with water
this town. Flooded with hopes
that you will return and restore sanity to my oblivious
water casts a spell on stooping women collecting in buckets in a rush, while husbands fume at home. I am not one of them. water is sacrosanct, but I can live amidst these incantations of the rain waiting for a cyclonic storm.