A peacock cry from bell tower
Pierced my morning’s silence.
The temple bell rang and rang
With its thick tongue in fever.
Clusters of acacias had grown
From under a skin of the earth
Spreading ghostly hair evenly
Into the blazing August’s sky.
Girls with jasmines in dark hair
Stood unblinking , in the hall,
Bringing fire in people’s lives.
Sweaty men made balls of fire.
Old ladies kneaded fiery dough
There is fire in the tired hearts,
In their minds, on their hands
But no water to quench thirst.
(Morning in Sivakasi)
Momentary poems 