Drunken laughter,
you and your friends
just chillin,
havin fun,
your nightly routine
after the
long tiring day.

Ash falls.
Burn your
orange-glow souls
in a circle
on that couch
every eye reflects
hollow silhouettes.

5.30 am,
the bell rings
milkman,paperboy

amma's up already,
two cups of tea
one glass of bournvita

the maid arrives,with
her bright smile
gets to work

grandmom chants
her morning prayers,
the diya is lit

busy kitchen noises,
something sizzles
on a pan

and a delightful aroma
permeates the air
tv-ad style

background noise
of a news channel
or a hindi serial

familiar clink
of amma's bangles
and pressure cooker whistles

I'm home.

thoughts float,
bob up and down
like paper sailboats

in crooked,
rainfed rivulets
during monsoon

that diverge,
broaden,and
gurgle nothings

and sometimes
disappear into
potholes and drains

boat-marks erased
by the water,leaving
shades of soaked white

thoughts float,
bob up and down
like paper sailboats

and i dont know
which ones are yours
and which ones mine.