Atulkumar Posted 21 years agowill u help understand the poem such that i can write the summary
A Butcher
In this lane
near Jama Masjid,
where he wraps kilos of meat
in sheets of paper,
the ink of the news
stains his knuckles,
the script is wet
in his palms: Urdu,
bloody at his fingertips,
is still fine on his lips,
the language polished smooth
by knives
on knives. He hacks
the festival goats, throws
their skin to dogs.
I smile and quote
a Ghalib line; he completes
the couplet, smiles,
quotes a Mir line. I complete
the couplet.
He wraps my kilo of ribs.
I give him the money. The change
clutters our moment of courtesy,
our phrases snapping in mid-syllable,
Ghalib's ghazals left unrhymed.
--from The Half-Inch Himalayas