Two rows of street-lights waking up
Some yellow but mostly red, the warders,
Silent as ever and telling no tale
In the city dark night has just begun.
The lamp-posts, tall and firm, curved like shades
Raining yellow lights on the road below,
The road on which millions move to and fro.
And before the night fades from the Sun
Many things both great and small will take place
Some hearts would be shattered and some
Lucky ones would have the grace.
A pair of street-dogs busy patrolling
The chaparral once sowed then forgotten,
Remarking the edge of their reign.
About the street-shops standing on the banks
Men in dresses roam, some in civil cloth
Gathering the price of valued protection.
Cars and crowded buses on the street
And the slaving three-wheelers moving on
Like a centipede, thousand meters long.
Ancient trees casting shadows in slanting stripes
Along the road, with cool and darker bloom
Crowning each bar, merging with each other
Rippling by, like a river of shadows.
Warm and yellow stretches in between, drenched
With the morning Sun, traversed on longer strides.
And soothing shadows keep beckoning for a break,
To repose and recline on the leaves
Drying brown, heaped around the tall, ageing trunks,
When the packs of twittering birds are lodged
Across the branches, like some refugees
Seeking shelter from the riotous mid-morning heat.
Down below on both sides of the road, stretching
All the way to the distant horizon
And beyond, lands, low and wet with weeds and grains
Sunbathing in plenty of invisible
Ultra violet rays, straining the naked eyes
Like a damn painting with the contrast set too high.
With the cruising sun precious time is running out,
Destination still lies so far away.
Soon the slanting shadows will shrink to form
Tiny puddles around the clutching roots,
And then reappear with a change of sides,
While the sunshine turns golden from yellow and white.
The City of Light, lying at the end of the road
Awaits the arrival of all the weary souls
But her gates are closing down, as the dying Sun
Dives beyond those mountain peaks, pink and draped in snow.
Brown grasses will grow green again
In cycle, sparkling bright with the Autumn dew.
Thick darkness of the night will fade
In cycle, blazing hot with the yellow sun.
The golden afternoons will melt
Into evenings purple soft, in cycle too.
Most birds that left their nests at dawn
Will return with the setting sun.
Naked trees in Winter soon will sprout
Lush leaves with the soothing Spring.
Caterpillars, hideous, from hell
Will grow into heavenly butterflies.
Rain-clouds by crying will become pure and white
And tears shed will find a way to the sea.
Though for an year almost,
I had readied myself for the game,
But when that moment came
It gone by so swift and dazzling
That I could hardly wink,
Standing by, a mere spectator.
Now as I sit here recalling the scene
I remember, for that half-done wink’s breadth
Time was frozen and I forgot to breathe
And there was a lump of liquid flames
Stuck at my parching throat. I had no doubt
That I am no Prufrock, rather
I had so many things to say –
Life, laughter and some tears to shed.
I guess I let that moment pass
For the boredom of the nothingness
That comes in the end, every time,
Leaving a tired mind with an empty soul.
And the Dawn arrives, fresh from his sleep,
While the eastern sky is thriving with hue
Golden with a shade of pink and sky blue.
Crows flying in search of meals, pack of sparrows
Westward not far behind, to the old stream
I knew in my childhood but long dead now.
Framed by the towers long and stout, the clouds
For the dead Night, still hold a shade of gray.
Noises of life have not yet drown the calm
Of the serene air, pure, still fresh from us.