Unreflective, glacine surface
of a forgotten lake,
its midnight blue,
no charm against the Evil within.
B-E-W-A-R-E! The monster rises,
bringing visions of a mass evacuation:
Silver lust for a beautiful, stranded stranger.
Yellow gluttony for the victuals of hungry children.
Blue greed of evacuees snatching the shadiest spots.
Pink sloth of emergency officials distracted from their tasks.
Crimson wrath of passengers at cancelled flights.
Verdant envy of those who can fend for themselves.
Purple pride of first world denizens flaunted over the third.
M-O-T-H-E-R! we are sinners all,
eternally falling, falling...
caught in the event horizon
of the unfathomable Mavi.
*Inspired by Lake Bafa in Southwestern Turkey
About Me
- Devi Anahit
- The plum (alu in Farsi) of Bukhara became the potato (aloo in Bangla and Urdu) on its way from Iran to the Indian subcontinent. Such is the fate of travelers -- to transform and be transformed; to forget that one ever knew certain things; to remember without trying when least expected. Junctions are places of meeting, not just for travelers, but also of stories, words, cuisines, histories and memories. Stop here a while. Rest, read, remember and tell the stories of how plums surreptitiously and impossibly became potatoes and stole the hearts of nations. Eat well. Be well.
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