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Puja Ahluwalia: "Dorcelina Falador"

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Dorcelina Falador
                   
Puja Ahluwalia

The sky and earth seal
At the horizon live
The landless people who
Have broken the barbed wire
And built shacks of
Black plastic and bamboo
On an arid yellow grassland waiting
For a five by five hectare plot
Centered by the rounding shadow of a mango tree.

Until then
The sun scans from west to east
Painting onto the peeling cheeks
Of those who plunge picks
To untame a wilderness
Already hardened.

But night
Descends
Like a wet gauze
Dripping in patient lamentation
Down clayed canals and
Through capillary walls
That saturate and swell under
Mapped palms
Curling open
To unfold
Across a prickling lap of fortune.

Around intersect
Three conspiring men
That mark
          With quaking ruler and red pen
                                  A design of green diffusion
                                                                      To replant the human seed
                                                                                 In lines
                                                                                 Their pistols sighting the sky

                                                                                 On the blue lip of eyes
                                                                      The moon rolling

 

Then slipping
By a rising
Sheet of red and yellow
That unveils night zipped
And Enrique tells his Maria who shivers
With the lurking fever of noon
To see the real color of the land dear
Your eyes must see under
The arch of hands
Bridged together
bone
to
bone.

 
 

 

Contents copyright © 2002 by Puja Ahluwalia.

Format copyright © 2002 by Cultural Logic, ISSN 1097-3087, Volume 4, Number 2, Spring 2001.