These rocks of Hampi-
forms without shape,
not round, not oval,
forming a pattern without a design,
heavy if eyes are open,
heavy on the mind if the eyes are shut,
prance like bears in your dreams;
echo your words
if you shout;
the greed of history,
are these rocks.

These rocks of Hampi-
the thirst in the scorching sun,
the wrodless stoned silence in the moonlight,
the dreams that knot the shattered moon in the flowing river,
the innocent words made silent
by the dark lingam of the night,
the evenings and dawns twittering in the chirping of birds,
the buffalo that can’t swim
in the deep stagnant waters,
these rocks.

The rocks of Hampi–
away from the mercy of lord Shiva,
they are the flames of his third eye.
Cursed and craving
for the kind touch of feet
they are the tales waiting to bloom.
Worn out,
but not becoming a linga
or even an anga
these rocks flower
when they see the tourists.
These rocks-
craving to make friends with
mothers’ smile at the baby in arms
spread their shade and embrace them,
or,
ignite cold memories with chill
and burn up the warm ones with fire
and take vengeance,
these rocks.

These rocks-
desiring to have complete freedom
among these rocks
the horses of fantasy,
unaided, untamed,
look, gallop away to the horizon
at even the slightest noise.
Naked wild horses
these rocks of Hampi.