TEA FOLK, MACHILIPATNAM Another milk-white morning pours into the town’s tea-dusty bazaar. Folk spilled here and there, warming up in the endless melting pots along the bazaars with pinches of sugary granules at tea shacks with spoonfuls of tea-dust-like guffaws and giggles of the Indian brown faces suffusing into the milky morning boiling with the fragrance of native exchange of pleasantries with the warm sips of the cardamom tea. AN ILLUSION It’s the harvest season again Sona! the rice you’ve grown is safe in the husky fold of a wheatish smile on its sunburnt face in warm stillness broken by the raucous greed of a strange raven in its glossy black coat waits for your favour spread on their apricot faces. The discordant note of its endless impressive pursuits for the preserved grains of your life will, I fear, soak you with its royal black attire that draws you to its enticing fabric, fabricated calls that appeal with confidence and dignity. Keep your hand still and the encounters with an empty smile giving it only the silence, a lesson, a shadow across its way.