Sunday, 22 July 2012

Four quarters of the day


The newspaper collector comes around with his harsh call
shattering the humid Sunday morning beyond my wall
a couple of rickshaws lazily twirl their conjoint wheels
and a sudden squeeze on their lo-tech honker feels
like the televisual scream of dying birds that tumble and fall
plummeting from the sky in a strident cosmic drawl.



The noon comes veiled, in the guise of some evening
when the light turns murky well before it’s time to bring
each hour of the day together in neat pleats and tuck
them into the waistband of the sun, and to chuck
this neutral light over her left shoulder, splitting
the day from dark and the twilight’s final fling.



The traffic peaks by habit at the appointed hours
even during holidays, the hollow concrete towers
disgorge their inmates for the mandatory merry
making, a bigwig’s white car cruises, her red cherry
sits flush on her roof, the inmate sits flushed in flowers
torn and strewn around her even as her public sours.



The night is poor in stars and silence, to sleep and fade
is surely wasteful, when there is so much to be made?
A prescribed life must stay wide awake and urbanity
equals unblinking sodium eyes of a frantic sleepless city
and I too, urbane insomniac, lazily parade
my goblet held high on my terrace and arcade.

4 comments:

  1. 4 section of one day very well defined loved it.

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    1. Glad you enjoyed it, n thanks for the feedback :)

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  2. Hello.
    Sounds like New York...the city that never sleeps! Nice imagery. Thanks for sharing.

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