|
This August-afternoon,
On the roof,
Of a suburban house,
Stands
A young housewife,
Leaning out,
Clasping the balustrade,
Staring at the traffic
On the serpentine highway,
With eyes vacant;
A white pigeon
Dives into an empty balcony,
The doors closed,
Of a top floor-flat,
Still locked in a building,
Few Kms away,
The pigeon fluttering
In the damp air,
Of that enclosed little space;
In another room,
Another place,
An empty chair,
Reminds painfully,
The present viewer
Of its earlier occupant,
Now gone forever;
A hungry dog,
Chases a startled cat,
Across the damp street
On this lazy Saturday afternoon,
Etched out boldly,
Against a grey sky,
Threatening rain.
|
