House of Peeling Walls
I leave this house to the birds in the birdbath
To the leaves that float down like feathers from the sky
To the Lakhori brick I hold in my hand
To the black ants that live inside the walls
To their ears that hear thunder before there's thunder to be heard
To the irises that climb over stones when they get in the way
To the shingles that came down rivers when there were rivers
To the flowering clover that spreads like fire
To the buttress root that uprooted the garden shed
To the dawn that widens the crack in its road when light seeps in
To the bougainvillea twigs thorning the ground I step on
To the woodpile stacked against a leaning wall
To the new leaves of March that arrive with a cracker burst
To the rose vine that doesn't know where to stop
To the water in the iron bucket
To the squirrel that darts round the corner of a medium-sized country
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ARVIND KRISHNA MEHROTRA
Of Least Concern
Centre for the Creative and the Critcal
2025
