Nymphets going round and round in circles
Around fragrant, colorful flowers stuck
In blobs of collected cow dung arranged
Decked with touches of crimson and turmeric
Singing in merriment and gumption
Fertility is a boon to pray for.
Myself not a compulsive ailurophile
In peak Delhi summer
But moving, it’s thinning, melting too
A newly kittened mom gives suck to her brood
In the shade of a high stone wall
Did cats ever send up prayers for fecundity?!
Penning poems is not kittening
There’s providence still, in both
Menarche of Fancy is not inducible
Imagination, ever extant and breathing
Needs a spur – call it a spark divine
An inspiration – frenzy too,
Orgasmic feeling of satiety,
The radiance of a rapturous thought.
