an afternoon heard

from the window,the sound of wind. almost voice-like. and then, silence. silence? or the aural void that replaces the wind? television talks. just as it did since dawn. the clock ticks overhead and holds an unending conversation with the table clock. a distant vehicle blares and another and another. birds sing.  the next best sound after silence. the beep of an incoming message. occasional giggles and quips from the drawing room. melodrama unfolds on the television. and silence falls. again. the keys click as i type. and life flows, dull and grim without the music that is silence.

At a poetry reading session

words.
mazes of words
whole streets of them.
a swift drive through
one of those localities
never fully seen or understood
words
that capture
that dreams are made of
words
wish mine were like yours
words
the choicest words
picked from a garden full of blossoms
words
your words
have built my dream house.

Unpeopled,
Healing under silent shadows
As soothing winds tend to aching parts;
Wishing, the burning light
Freezes in its height
And the blanket of slumber

Forever weighs upon.
Streets bare it all
And embrace Night.

At the General Ward...

A man shall walk out on one...

Only, he had come in on two. Pray his good humour didn't dwell in the parted limb.Worse still - some walk in never to walk out.Death is more on the prowl here than  elsewhere....

A mother showers her love on her son: a young man who would most certainly have passed off as no more than some aimless vagabond should he be seen elsewhere. A dutiful wife feeds her ailing husband mouthful after mouthful.A child is seen tailing her mother running on some errand or another. A man wanders baring his upper torso that is burnt on the flip side.The "BATHROOM" on one end of the ward calls for an act of courage to get into. A huge fan stands facing its entrance supposedly to keep the pungent odour to the "BATHROOM". Some choose slumber over waking life while some others stare into it - their strength dribbing out drop by drop.....

A stool screeches here and there. Fans swirl noisily overhead. Conversations too fuse into this singular noise. A noise that seems to keep on a fight against fear - making one numb to reality.

So that, in the mean while one could grow those special gills that can
breathe in the hope that wafts in the air...silently...always.


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