The rooms of imagination
smell of rain
The windows open to a slice of left behind days
Chipped tales on discoloured walls,
a clothesline of pale blue, dull brown,
stale white swaying in the warm breeze,
the chatter of spices and voices from the kitchen,
summer holidays and hopscotch afternoons.
The shadow of parents, their lives akin to the
relentless march of red ants to feed the colony
or the shady jackfruit tree – a stern sentinel.
With the rains, the story of the courtyard
shape shifts to a Kiarostami movie
where a boy searches for his friend’s home.
The quest for everything eaten up
by ravenous time grows robust in me
-the greens sprouting and spreading
through cracks and fissures,
the desires and decays strumming
with the downpour.
The scent of ‘huzn‘ permeates the air.
I write you letters
on my lost home, fragile love, faded childhood
but forget to send them.
***
Madras Courier originally ran as a broadsheet with a poetry section. It was a time when readers felt comfortable sharing glimpses of their lives through verse. If you have a poem you’d like to submit, do email us at [email protected].
-30-
Copyright©Madras Courier, All Rights Reserved. You may share using our article tools. Please don't cut articles from madrascourier.com and redistribute by email, post to the web, mobile phone or social media.Please send in your feed back and comments to [email protected]
