Poetry by Satish Pendharkar
We’ve never made passports or visas
Nor purchased air-tickets to fly;
We’ve entered and exited places at will
For ages and since times long gone by.
Every winter flying in from far-off
Onto Mumbai’s mudflats we descend;
To binge on blue-green algae
Before roosting to let our minds unbend.
However, this year (though even) has been odd
People have not flocked to see us;
No cameras clicking away, no tourist boats
Why have folks quarantined themselves thus?
Not that we’re missing the ruckus they create
Not that we’re missing their lasting stink;
For, flouting all social distancing norms
We’re preoccupied in painting the place pink.
Satish Pendharkar lives in Pune, India. His poems have appeared in Agave magazine, Parody, New Asian Writing, dotdotdash, and Indian Literature. He has published a book of poems titled “Nocturnal Nomad” and a novella titled “The Backrush of Memory”. He loves singing and hiking.
