Dhristhi Pusnika

The dhristhi melon’s belly is bloated.
He has chomped on enough evil eyes –
juicy dark presences
marinated in a selection of bitter sauces
served with a sprig of piety –
just the way he likes it.
His yellow tongue flickers –
smacking and drooling bits of camphor
dancing between the pageants of delicacies.
Soon he would be so stuffed with
malicious curses and vicious spirits
that he will be able to eat no more.
Then they will escort him outside
like an honored guest and
splatter his yellow guts across the pavement
for street urchins to pick through.
Crows fight over the melon seeds.

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