Soliloquy

Tadbund, Hyderabad

The man with no feet unfurls his stumps one by one
As if displaying his wares at the exhibition at Imperial
Gardens down the road. His obstinacy in trying to undo
The straps of the trousers stitched to a length
Which matches where his feet had originally been

Stand firm in the face of the heat that emanates
From the streetlamp under which he stands mid-afternoon
This day in March. Akbar Road appears at a length’s
Grasp as he sets about undoing the patches that are
Invisible to the naked eye while strapping a handkerchief

Over the stumps’ dignified remains. Only the legless
Remnants of his godless existence remain untouched
By the sun’s all-pervading rays while a beggar
– His neighbour for all intents and purposes – parades
His shiny tooth in anticipation of pennies from the pious

Emerging from the Hanuman temple in Tadbund.
The man with no feet, intent on finishing his task
Before the day grows longer, stretches his trousers
For the last time before adjusting his diseased prosthetic
Legs and tucking them underneath. He stands up with

The support of a walking stick that last served James
Kirkpatrick. I touch the silence he evades with a piercing
Look at my own Woodlands. Worship escapes his
Understanding while forethought parades its shiny
Yet painless existence on the road to Sikh Village.

When I look into his eyes, the man with no feet
Seems reluctant at first to grant himself the choice to
Escape my treacherous presence. I stand tormented while
His gaze moves on to the plight of the millionaires
At Tivoli who disburse neither charity nor goodwill.

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