Sometimes I want to write a poem on sometimes

There is a new answer a tree played for the footballers today.

The sky was a discovered colour not recollected by the writer.

A bee made straight zoom for my hair.

The jogger jogged without his stick, first time in 6 months.

A parrot flew over him.

A girl found time to listen to an earthworm dig.

Around bulldozer, it was silence.

Not everything happened here.

Almost all my returns are well timed with how the sky back at home should look

A clear-dandruff like collection of cloud should mean, I am coming to the ruffle of leaves. A cue to the coral should mean it is 7 and I am to miss tea. A well stationed azure should mean the bus will have left by the time I reach. A wind is still learning to settle what it is going to leave behind. On the roads when people spill along with brown leaves, there is a reflection Of a chai spilled, a biscuit broken — A tip to summer and an earthworm. When I arrive early, I take a longer route. When I arrive late, I am already seeing the sky at home (but at some other place). Glad that the one thing that won’t move with me will be this scene. I am occupied in looking around because I do not need to carry the sky, or pack it, or remember it forever. Also, I can’t really do any of those things. Even knowing that my travels speak to me More about home, should have made me feel adjusted. Most days, I feel Well Traveled.

Didi tum maar khaogi?

When she says: Didi tum maar khaogi? My little neighbour states the very obvious. Her elder sister has just pushed her off the back seat of their red bicycle. There is another who is busy drawing herself in circles behind the cycle. She goes round and round and round… The youngest one of them hasn’t turned up today. She is busy creating an earth on the wall below this floor. When the neighbour repeats: Didi tum maar khaogi? The one behind the cycle, Circling, answers: “Haan. Abhi plate laati hun!”

Loony Tunes

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