the laundry flutters like white butterflies over some old people
gathering in the shades, talking in a language I don’t understand.
it’s been too hot an afternoon,
even a dragonfly has stopped its coquettish dance
and perched, languidly, on a deserted cabbage leaf.
On the last day of this month, though in lunar calendar ,
it’s almost the hottest day of the year –
how funny time seeps through our life in different ways,
some invisible, some like now in the eyes of a half-awake cat ,
crystallizing into an abyss and monitoring quietly
all the maddening crowds that set the earth in motion.
it’s just another day for you and I.
another day though not different at all we are nudged
by some invisible force forward , sideward, backward ,
cordoned off in a showcase window we call “that is life after all”,
leaving no room for reflections about “is it even so ”.
the bus station is queued with people I don’t know,
and yet the bus has not come,
chills sprawl upon my spine , the gust ,O, the gust .
I hold your hand , for I’ve long lost my way.
you look almost too happy in the sun.
It’s just another day for you and I.
how strange the silence balls up between us and keeps us apart,
though we are so close in this busy park.
The trees tremble slightly in the breeze,
announcing the coming of the rain – the long awaited rain.
Soon the crowd of men will disperse like startled pigeons
into their rancid rooms.
The rain might be too heavy for such a city
or you and me.
I don’t know what lies ahead in this avenue,
but I know there is too much history catching up upon me,
It’s either destruction
or oblivion ,
nobody knew me two thousand years ago
and certainly I won’t be remembered two thousand years from now.
only the sweat drenched earth beneath my feet knows
the weight of my searching steps.
I’m no one; and I’m everyone.