Ganesh Chaturthi

On a palanquin lofted
by four garlanded men,
the pot-bellied Elephant God
leads a seaward procession.

A believer cradling a small
earthen version of the god
mutters last-minute prayers,
supplications hurried to shore
by a trick of the wind.

Ganapati, let the train come
that I may keep my job. Let my son
pass exams, my daughters marry
into good families.

Water slaps sand, the air clacks
with finger cymbals. The pilgrim
wades out waist-deep, the murti
in his elbow's crook. He releases it
like a bad debt, a brok...