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As an alley cat silent,
The July evening sad,
Descends on the city,
With the heavy steps,
Of a young widow,
Who makes no sound,
While
Alighting the spiral
Staircase of wide stones,
In the courtyard
Of a white-painted
Haveli grand,
In the middle of a
Burning desert,
In
Remote Rajasthan,
Her doe-eyes blank,
Fair oval face,
Completely drained,
The middle hair parting,
Without any crimson sindoor,
A figure in white,
Indolent,
Moving in/out,
Of the large bare rooms,
Of the big village home,
As stealthily as
The floating memories,
That haunt
A helpless, discarded
Wheezy old man,
Dying slowly,
Of neglect and
Social amnesia,
In a forgotten
Mumbai home.
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