I had transmuted all my opinions

into smooth stones

in the fishtank

in the living room.
If the price is right,

Lalitha said, we can buy an ocean.
That Sunday, we both went

to the shop that sells oceans.
For the price of a month’s rent,

said the salesman, you can own

an ocean that comes with full moon waves.
My wife and Lalitha were delighted

to have bought the ocean.
Our cat kept

glowering

at the ocean.
Cha! Saturnine ingénue,

what does it know? I said.
The Sanitation Officer

inspected the ocean and left.
It was not on his list.

We can buy a tortoise next,

I told Mother.

Mother objected;

like a statue of Krishna

playing his flute,

a tortoise destroys a home.

Everything would be swept away.
As sunlight disperses

on the surface of the water

like bread ripped to pieces

by fish, whales and tortoises,

our home ocean lies

balled up in hunger.