Tuesday, March 18, 2008

6 pm,
whiffs of a
rain-flavoured wind

it starts off
as a tame drizzle
grows into a
full fledged downpour

some far away door
crashes against the wind
whoosh of the gale outside
curtains flying

close these windows now
thunder rumbles and roars
the world blinks
streaks of lightning

goes the transformer
frantic groping
for emergency lights

8 pm now,
they fade away soon,
flicker of the oil-lamp
burns a wind-distorted flame

black out in the apartment
someone's stuck in the lift
voices echo
in the corridor stairway

amma and I
sit in the balcony
black leaved trees
ominous animal outlines

its those monkeys again
chattering,swinging from
branch to brach
and into someone's kitchen.

we gossip,watch passers-by
mingled smell
of wet earth,
hot chai and samosas

Candle,with its
rainbow ringed yellow,
tilt it to get
wax finger-cups

familiar old routine,
hyderabadi ministorm,
I miss the excitement
of power cuts.


gsk said...

'black leaved trees' there's a tinge of gothicity in every poem of urs... why so?

Bland Spice said...

moi -
you've got an own indian voice... they make me sit back and read them again.

yours are the only poems i read.
when you become big, remember your first fan here.

Anonymous said...

nostalgia,meloncholy,its a strange blend of emotions(but it all sounds eerie)..

personal trauma..or the typical "I can feel the pain cliche"??(chuck the personal stuff)..

Great blogging neverthless..