Dāna (दान)
The child,
hungry.
His tiny palm's
creases black with dirt
extends for my 20 rupees.
Exhausted...
Coffee: a 100 rupees
20 to 100, rupees reflecting my fears:
How much do I give?
The mandala spins.
The man without legs, hands in anjali
Eyes rolled back and chanting
on shredded blue baby blanket
His presence in my path asks:
What are doing with your healthy legs?
The mandala spins.
A sari is carefully lifted,
Red toenails in heels
step over the curbside pile
awaiting a match:
instant coffee cups
Banana peels, wilted marigolds,
a muddy coconut cookie wrapper.
Plastic burns
Incenses too.
The mandala spins.
Fresh pomegranate juice pours
The young Nepali boys
Pretending not to stare,
my white skin sips-
The illusion of hope?
The mandala spins
The mandala spins.
The man without legs, hands in anjali
Eyes rolled back and chanting
on shredded blue baby blanket
His presence in my path asks:
What are doing with your healthy legs?
The mandala spins.
A sari is carefully lifted,
Red toenails in heels
step over the curbside pile
awaiting a match:
instant coffee cups
Banana peels, wilted marigolds,
a muddy coconut cookie wrapper.
Plastic burns
Incenses too.
The mandala spins.
Fresh pomegranate juice pours
The young Nepali boys
Pretending not to stare,
my white skin sips-
The illusion of hope?
The mandala spins
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