Vaishnav struts about town
sectarian in an ochre gown.
At parsad he loads victuals
on his plantain-leaf plate.
He showers praise
on the steaming rice: Oh, it’s great!
Course follows course, fetching his applause.
The more he is served, the more he wolfs down.
Replete now, paunch delirious,
worship turns ever more serious.
He sings devotionals and drums up a stew.
Akha says: Put it down
to the zap of youth.
Translated from the Gujarati by Gieve Patel