The question usually is "do you believe in God?"

But here is "are you looking for a God?"

Establishing a new genre, what can be called Bhakti Poetry (new because it is Bhakthi poetry in English), Arun Kolatkar opened the doors of English Language to the cultures of Hindu Worship. With Sarpa Satra and the Khala Ghoda poems, Kolatkar's imagistic presicion distinct to modern poetry amalgamates with the ancient myths of India or the streets of Bombay. Be it a pi-dog claiming affiliation to Yudistira or lepers showcasing their scaly paws, Kolatkar's poems leave one wanting more of Indian mythology and its streets.

Vamangi, lived in the illusion that Vittala was by her side, shoulder to shoulder, but when it was broken to her by a devotee, it rushed upon her - 28 millenia of loniless, all at once.

Sarpa Satra surfaces the modern themes of ethnic cleansing with the story of Asthika and Emperor Janmejaya.

The following poem is Yeshwant Rao from his collection called Jejuri. Bone setters and miracle workers are given their ironic credit in this one. There is a tone of confessional peotry in this one. The use of unusual metaphors and similies is the hallmark of confessional poetry. And the comparision to Lava pie and the shape of protoplasm mark this as confessional. Direct speech in poetry allows the poetic constructs of the "I" and "you" to be post-structuralists. And the place of this God - outside even of the outer wall-brings in the concepts of 'otherness' and post-modernism. The aspects spoken in the same breathe include lepers and tradesmen negating the idea of binarism. Rejection of the symetrical or the theatrical gods once again establishes anti-centrism.

You are welcome to post your observations and surface more layers to this beautiful poem.

Yeshwant Rao

Are you looking for a god?

I know a good one.

His name is Yeshwant Rao

and he's one of the best.

look him up

when you are in Jejuri next.

Of course he's only a second class god

and his place is just outside the main temple.

Outside even of the outer wall.

As if he belonged among the tradesmen and the lepers.

I've known gods prettier faced

or straighter laced.

Gods who soak you for your gold.

Gods who soak you for your soul.

Gods who make you walk on a bed of burning coal.

Gods who put a child inside your wife.

Or a knife inside your enemy.

Gods who tell you how to live your life,

double your money

or triple your land holdings.

Gods who can barely suppress a smile

as you crawl a mile for them.

Gods who will see you drown

if you won't buy them a new crown.

And although I'm sure they're all to be praised,

they're either too symmetrical

or too theatrical for my taste.

Yeshwant Rao,

mass of basalt,

bright as any post box,

the shape of protoplasm

or king size lava pie

thrown against the wall,

without an arm, a leg
or even a single head.

Yeshwant Rao.

He's the god you've got to meet.

If you're short of a limb,

Yeshwant Rao will lend you a hand

and get you back on your feet.

Yeshwant Rao Does nothing spectacular.

He doesn't promise you the earth

Or book your seat on the next rocket to heaven.

But if any bones are broken

you know he'll mend them.

He'll make you whole in your body

and hope your spirit will look after itself.

He is merely a kind of a bone-setter.

The only thing is,

as he himself has no heads, hands and feet,

he happens to understand you a little better.

-Arun Kolatkar