And Sacred Cows Poem by Paul Brookes

the air is too thin like coiled smoke in lungs
time's fractured, a floating cameras eye in the bath
it watches discrete with soapy tears.
bends gravity with starburst radiochatter

subliminal, time stretches, stark limed,
against black clouds.
rain rippling on corrugated tin roofs
leopard patternediron rust spots
ringing off key in monsoon rains
water curtainedwindows
river blinds.

the temples drifted with saffron sheets
or ripple in orange sunsets over the Ganges
hot and spiced ruby red,
women walk sinuous in pink laced gold saris.
time is slower a treacle velocity yet all is bustle.

the ancient and modern juxtaposed
its dusty plains or cool mountain forests
this land slides continually out of focus
surfaces blur edges soften
just when you think you know, you don't,
and all around the temple bells ring
this India, a place of sacred cows
whereperceptions change at every hour.