Sunday, 16 July 2017

Vacancies 2017








The monsoon and I arrive, every year
about the same time, and the sky’s shampooed
with sudsy clouds, the asphalt’s rinsed in mud,       
all the way through the city up to here
awash with reflections, the tree leaves clear
of past dust, debris. But change’s accrued
in infinitesimal moves of blood;
in tiny degrees mapping atmosphere.


A house has fallen vacant on a street -
overgrown, greedy vines snap at its heels.
A locked cupboard somewhere, an empty chair,
a pair of old, worn slippers minus the feet.
The city commute’s the same, the same rain wheels
across the road, just that you aren’t there.












9 comments:

  1. This is very, very beautiful - but makes my heart ache.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Wonderful laid tale. One more victim claimed. Very touching

    ReplyDelete
  3. Heart breaking but oh so beautifully written.

    Yvonne.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Hi Nila - sad, especially knowing what's happened - we visit and they have gone ... it's life, though that is difficult to realise. Beautifully written - with thoughts - Hilary

    ReplyDelete
  5. Hi Nila, so beautifully written, a scenario for a short doc or a video clip.
    Mira

    ReplyDelete
  6. a vacancy, a snuffed star...your poems here are working through your loss and capturing the ache perfectly.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Very nice! Loved the imagery invoked by "the sky’s shampooed
    with sudsy clouds."

    ReplyDelete
  8. Thanks to all for reading! The monsoons in India are beyond beautiful - even in the cities :)

    ReplyDelete