Chorus of Horns, Brahma of Om

photo courtesy of National Geographic

Brahma cow horns

silently saluting Devi cow goddess

wet bulging chocolate eyes

calmly closing,

opening, noting

frenetic waves of wooden rickshaws

budget cars

white vans

psychedelic painted busses

pickup trucks with 35 people hanging on

crawling whizzing past,

chirping belching:

dha

dhin dhin dha, dha dhin dhin dha

da tin

tin na, dha dhin dhin dha

music of horns

all at once,

short staccato beeping honking

treble bewailing cacophony-

school’s out!

“hey kid! look, no hands!”

and bicyclists delivering mustard flowers

weaving in and out

throughout

constant sound color parading, invading

mystical Indian roads

where in solitary calm

holy cows loiter about

passive and unmoving,

solemn sprawled Gandhis

oblivious to the bebop symphony enveloping all:

scata-

tip-tip tat!

dip

deeeeeeeep-ta dhat!

beeeeeep!!!

and motorbikes

dart weave

in then out,

no fear,

biker’s hair

brains blowing all directions,

while even more midget cars and scooters

wait their chance to lurch out

from some long-forgotten side dirt street,

beggars’ hands or stumps reaching through any open windows,

the chorus of horns,

flying purple kites:

dhat

dhat dhat!

meanwhile,

oh, our punching bag earth,

holes and all, ditches,

Ayurvedic streets choking in permanent repair,

anarchy construction company eternally out to lunch,

truck drivers bloodied and turbaned,

teawalas and street workers gesticulating

hands feet busy being with life living,

some heading for Kerala rice or Punjabi yellow mustard fields

dodging this passionate way of life,

ringing of horns flashing

cutting knives

blinding white light

multidirectional 23 entrances

all converging at once:

dhaaaat!

tat! ata tat!

whizzzzz-beep!

beep!

tooooooot-toooooot!

lekin (but)!

Holy Cows from Rigveda verses:

here to save us all from these battery charged clarions,

enduring bovines chewing on wisdom

living moment to moment indifferently,