The Priest’s Son
these five hills
are the five demons
that Khandoba killed
says the priest’s son
a young boy
who come along as your guide
as the schools have vacations
do you really believe that story
you ask him
he doesn’t reply
but merely looks uncomfortable
shrugs and looks away
and happens to notice
a quick wink of a movement
in the scanty patch of scruffy dry grass
burnt brown in the sun
as says
look
there’s a butterfly
there
The Butterfly
There is no story behind it.
It is split like a second.
It hinges around itself.
It has no future.
It is pinned down to no past.
It’s a pun on the present.
It’s a little yellow butterfly.
It has taken these wretched hills
under its wings.
Just a pinch of yellow,
it opens before it closes
and closes before it o
where is it
by Arun Kolatkar
from Jejuri
New York Review Books, 2005