The window opens to a slice of sunlit sky

The day is a spread out banana leaf with portions of life in tiny heaps.

A tree grows awkwardly out of the pavement tiles, its hungry roots are like those

unsettled souls who seek something more, travel an extra mile.

Faith is a phallic shaped stone beneath it,
marigolds strewn around, agarbatti sticks burning out the memory of dark nights.

A cobbler sits under the shade, mends and polishes shoes of different size.

Mending is a patient act of reconciliation, an elfin touch of time that tries to bring back the old look, the lost love.

The window hears the day’s cacophony, lets the sound waves rest on its sill.

Evening comes as a departure, the molten sky colours play a requiem as the long weary shadows walk homewards.

Lit up billboards are bodies of women, enticing.

The broad leaved tree reads the script of red, amber, green lust.

The moroseness of the day looks back.

The self gets scattered in the beautiful, in the vulgar.

Tat Tavm Asi* (Thou art that )

Loneliness of the window is a photographer’s dark room chasing sequinned dreams in the day’s mundane collage.

A dog’s distant wail becomes a lullaby.