Beyond the bend there were buffaloes, Cows and a single boy perched, Half-naked, on the back of a buffalo. It was the twilight hour of cowdust.
Suddenly the angle of a woman’s arm Collecting cowdung cakes by the roadside Made clear this blended hour, a word That had nestled like a bird in my soul, Made clear the dungsmoke swathed Outlines of a mud village, its cowdungSmeared walls and floors, clarified A whirl of cows. Our driver honked, Scattering some. Others continued Their slow, swaying walk across the road. We inched through a gap in the herd, Wreathed in cowdust, headlights switched on, Casting faint, elongated shadows of cows On this world of dust a word could touch.