Its black, i say.
Not totally... you can't say it's black.. greyish probably..darker greyish is a better description.
It's black...just the lights playing that's all.
This is black..that is not as black..can't you see...it's different.
Black is black whatever shade it is...
My point is it's not black.
What?
And i can hear the pressure cooker whistle in the kitchen across the street. It's weird... it's almost normal... Nepal Bandh.
And i can see the stars at night when there is no horns and honks all day... still the mist hangs over the smoky streets...tyres could be burnt afar if not right here.
Oh- i wake up in the morning - the street is so silent. i think - it is a bandh day - it hits my head - so - i ask myself - rest today - am i so lucky - i ponder - why not - computer is fun - a little work wouldn't harm anyways.
I am all sleepy and drowsy. She was out 'ol day. All i had was a few licks of the milk there was in the pot. I loved the peas she brought in last nite. They were juicy and green. I took a pod from her hand and ate it all. Then she brought out another and i ate it too. Yet she got out another and i was already full. So, i took it from her and hid it behind my bed.. then she took out another and i didn't know what to do... so i hid it too...
I remember the load shedding... the chat after so long .....
I remember the tea ... and the hot cup ...
I remember the morning crow ... and the three pigeons...
the smokes and the puffs...
the evening stroll with the hood over my head...
the empty streets and the loud voices...
the chocoalate that was too sweet and
the water so cold
No comments:
Post a Comment