On Shiva’s night

Think and write “pigeon” on white sky-
A white pigeon among four grey ones.

A real pigeon lies but dead in balcony.
Near washing machine is space to die.

Another lies but dead by a super store,
Another pigeon dead in another space

But in time shared with all others dead
To enter a death land on this Shiva day.

A poet is called upon to dispose death.
He scoops up bird death in dust scoop

On day that Shiva ingests blue poison.
He drops it in the dark womb of chute.