Ravine Ghazal – by Anvesh Jain

by TBLM

Beauty in stillness, evinced by dead flowers
in milkjugs. I found untold power hidden at the ravine.

November in Toronto is a shameful grey,
with slurries, and piss, dour hiking trips to the ravine.

Man on the bridge: You’re not welcome here.
Bring immigration papers—he glowered from the ravine.

Suspicion begets suspicions for truth
seekers. Be on time for coffee hour at the ravine.

The Sufi crunches halves of maple leaf jalebi.
Pipes play on, amuse the watchtowers along the ravine.

A hypogean scar—closest to the ghouls.
Did I not read somewhere that Babi Yar was a ravine?

The rich get richer. & Anvesh, you prize ass,
there’s nothing left for cowards but slopes at the ravine.

***