(Godhra carnage and the subsequent riots in Gujarat)

We are never really sure
How long we will have to live
Under the cyanide shade
Of the sky-high banyan tree of total eclipse
Growing in our backyard

No one dares to unravel the mystery
Of its source, spread and increase

After all,
We ourselves have nourished it
With manure of smashed infant skulls
We have never looked at it
With the eyes
Of the tattered weeping vulvas.

Under it
The dreadful stench of incinerated skin
Spreads
We,
Inveterate orthodox onlookers flee,
Plugging our noses

We will never get
To the root of it
Because
While digging
We will find instead
Its arsenic aerial-roots

Deep within us