How fortunate we are
that there are walls
that walls have gates
and gates have locks

A small garden
and birdsong
the courtyard sleeps like
a dog I am alone within.

With folded fangs, observing
my domestic seclusion, the black
beauty of an alluring serpent
descends on the colours of the garden

How fortunate that
we have walls
that walls have doors
and doors have bolts
Lucky indeed that I can be
locked within
by my near
and dear ones
when they go to work.

Otherwise
without wasting my life this way
reading Femina
counting my bangles
and watching Star TV
I would have crossed
the door, the street,
the city, and gone out
of this solitary confinement
to regain my paradise
with the black serpent.