The Blue Sky

It was a blue sky that on that day I spied

not a cloud above the skyline in sight,

no matter how hard I may have tried,

not revealed even a single streak of white.

 

Across the horizon only blue and light

like the jagged dream of an empty night.

Upon us bore, foolishly dreaded my mind,

in the form of lifeless sky- the end of mankind.

 

Borne on silent wind swayed a branch

and I soon awoken from the trance

thought to myself about the perfect trait

of that background of the trees’ portrait.

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The Dreamer

In the portrait of a mind unsoiled,

freed from tangible sight

Skyward eyes opened embroiled

in her dream alien from contrite.

 

Thought I, of the dreamer

lost to her dream of no repent,

of what sight might keep her

in an escape so eager, so spent.

 

While I spied this flight

the tables and dream I study

Careful not to make dreamer alight,

in her eyes I seek prosody.

 

The memory of the quiet scene

and a dream the only proof

of all that had been

in those days of monsoon.

 

Sounds

After  walking the long winding maze of streets that were filled with loud cars and people, the chirping crickets sounded like aliens.

You could still hear the bikes rushing past, the shopkeepers and customers talking, and the food shops frying the nights special, as you enter the street. The street seemed like a lifeless world without the buzz of electric lights or voices that carried out from within the homes around its flanks. If electricity was still supplied, this street along with three others would surround and guard the park and fill it with voices, as though the patch of greenery was a great marvel meant to be protected, preserved.

You could hear footsteps and people brushing aside the low hanging branches as they made their way away from the park. There was only one person walking in the opposite direction at any given time, so even if the night left you blind you’d hear footsteps and know where not to go. A man left the park and walked into the street, his dog’s chain clinking as they darted to and fro, lead forward by excited sniffing.I heard his feet scrapping along the road and crushing leaves long after he disappeared from underneath the dim moonlight.

I heard a group of kids in the park huddled around a single bench. They argue with each other for more space in hushed voices. Another dogs, which has no chain, is busy turning over rocks, kicking up leaves and wining excitedly. One kid, who sounds young, keeps repeating in Kannada that his uncle has a phone and he wants a rematch. An old couple sit on the elevated foot path murmuring to themselves.

On the left I see a woman open her squeaky window, she lights a match and goes back in.A group of Rajasthani women clothes as loud as their voices have what I mistake to be a yelling match with other Rajasthani women in cramped apartments. As their laughter carried across the streets and echoed off the houses, I realized they were just having a conversation. An old couple who looked a lot like the two who were sitting murmured as they pointed at the women.

I reached the end of the street and heard someone bounding up their stairs. the power came back on as I walked back. TV’s came back on, the now nosy street and park gained a renewed vigor. Lights and people buzzed about me. It was still quite in comparison to the main street, but not as silent as it was before.

I could now see people in their homes. They like the noise, seemed to heave come from no-where. An Enfield purred and another in response. I walked off the street and all the street’s nosises were drowned out.