Reading Time: 2 minutes
Rains, cyclone, Ayodhya verdict and city life forms the mosaic of this ballad, by Siddhanjan, exclusively for Different Truths.
Some days are dull –
you feel to go out,
run to catch a tram,
take a window seat…
The rain water drops
from the broken window…
The wind blows across,
through the other side,
The man seating by the side,
feeling the air,
getting drenched slowly…
His hands are outside –
feeling the drops
in the palm.
You just feel…
Sitting inside the room…
The winds strike the windows hard
Raindrops falling —
more intense …
You cannot hear the barking of the street dogs
like usual days…
The maid did not turn up…
Make the coffee on your own…
A large mug,
looking for some snacks in the freeze,
looked empty,
Staring at the TV …
Looking at the cyclonic conditions…
In next two hours it’s hitting the land…
Seemed the media is
working with disaster response team…
Sunderbans like always
will listen to the storm of the Bay of Bengal…
It will also run through Kolkata
Looked around in Google …
Seeing the clouds, winds in satellite pictures…
A larger tornado around Vietnam…
The TV was switched on
to hear about the Ayodhya verdict.
So much to do…
Nothing could bring peace in mind
I would have many a glass of whisky,
with cubes of ice
in every glass,
but the bottle is empty,
It’s hard to go out
to buy one …
Can I cook something
The heart says yes
but I am lethargic
the weather says
sit, sleep, laze around …
Don’t know how to spend few hours
The clock moves as the cyclone,
whirling around in circles…
The wind strikes the window hard…
May be by the sea side,
The old man and his wife,
Cling on to the hope
of a rescue…
Not knowing future shelter
he sees out through the broken door.
He has seen cyclones
all through these years…
in the sea,
as a fisherman
in the land saving his children from rains…
The children have migrated
to the cities.
The old man still goes out in the sea
His fishing nets are still strong…
He has sold his boat though.
Who knows, this maybe the last cyclone…
He may not have
the strength to build
a new house,
he stares at his wife
in dismay …
Holding her hands
Cyclones come so soon,
Can he see the next cyclone?
The hatched roof collapses at one side…
I look outside,
through the window panes,
Some fritters are fried,
another mug of coffee, Irish folk…
A book on Tagore,
and it all seemed so warm.
The wind could hardly be heard
As I got engrossed in life after life …
Photo from the Internet
