Execution of a Deserter

1738

From the bow of the St. Géran, a boatswain
catches the glint of muskets

The masts concur: land is a macabre notion
that’s approaching fast

A ditch yonder fills with the soldier’s fear—
anyone watching from the ship

smells it in the hull, sees bales of broadcloth
reddening around the helmsman

The blindfold is also an eyewitness; it lies not
far from the soil where he last knelt

Sixteen gun salutes from the fort’s ramparts
erase the southern burial

Lunar Eclipse

20 ஆடி, 1739

Near the anchorage, the sightless ruminate among themselves,
determine the eclipse is like a hole in their remembrance

The governess in her marjoram gown lifts her gaze heavenward;
nine-tenths of the surface area is shadowed from her window

In the basilica’s stained glass, acolytes are celestially extinguished
Doppelgängers congregate on pews meant for the left-hand caste

Coja Petrus Uscan

Madras, 1746

Under his roof, though the monsieur knows
Uscan’s loyalties lie with the British

But the Armenian doesn’t distinguish him from
his enemy—building the Marmalong

has perhaps taught him not to burn bridges
Why worry about the flag of the ship

as long as it will carry his heart for burial in Julfa?
It’s owing to this he will never confess

his real thoughts to his guest, whose soldiers strip
Fort St. George like a native mistress