Strawberry is a freak among fruits – a bunch of seeds shooting from a hollow sugary crystalline center to the surface, with their tightly packed stems acting as fibrous deposits of juice. It feels like a civilized pineapple at times, and it goes bad pretty quickly. I wish for a day when humans have selectively bred strawberries to be the size of a bag of chips. Anyway, here are a few lines about my war with mold, over strawberries.
In rot I chase
sugar and puzzles.
Drunk on sweetness
crazed he writes;
my foe is rot
where mold resides,
with mold I race
for juiciest prize.
An attempt at translation of one of Dushyant Kumar‘s most well-recognized poems.
This glacial pain of the mountains
An outpour Gangetic,
Something pure and holy.
These walls, these concrete curtains
Behind them we yearned
for quakes, not storms
In streets, alleys, cities and hamlets
Every corpse, as the living
A dance fervorous.
In this influence,
My only offence.
But she must,
In our hearts
If not in mine, then in yours.
The cosmos laughs on us my friend, the cosmos laughs on you and me.
As we fight battles or make love through the night
Like the fools we are, we try to subdue its laugh with gunfire and passionate moans
giving meanings to its billion toothed smile.
Yet we can’t help but stop and look up, every now and then,
On this night and more, my friend, the cosmos laughs on us.