Morning

The lake shimmered  through the shanty on its edge with a woman sitting like a tree. There was foam in her mouth cleansing the night. The sun shimmered beyond her on the lake, like the glint in a child’s eye. The shadows played on the tree softly from the trees on the edge.

This side there are houses everywhere in lake spaces.People in place of water.and  in place of rocks. It is as if lakes and rocks have turned people. People  who have made holes for themselves like birds in treetops.They have put up flags in their balconies of red-and-white sarees for drying.

The aggregate of their holes makes up the lost lake space. The lake water is nowhere. It has entered their bird bodies occupying  holes in vertical space. The rocks are now rubble. And gravel laid out for people who come down from their holes to bring milk for their kids and for their morning coffee and newspapers.

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