Through the Broken Window

This morning     as I stood there
probing my curiosity — I saw
new cars and bikes
passing by the window.

Morning prayers
from a new kindergarten
could be heard     and loud debates
in newly opened shops
seemed more factual
than befuddled newspapers

but, not a single face was known
not a single voice was familiar.

Just above my eyebrows
on the wall behind —
a new crack was born.
I could see it shivering in the panes.

A weird gloom and sporadic frustration
led me to this window today

where memories have no houses to reside
and time is too restless to settle.

__

The Rooftop

The rooftop of my 1997 house
is my daily haunt     in the dead of night.
It is a quotidian habit of my solitude
that embarks      upon cries of foxes
and euphonious breezes
blowing from wheezing trees.

Sometimes     bravery of facing life
seems to be a pretense
and this daily part of my life in the rooftop
acts as the respite from weariness
and the route to escape.

Occasionally       an owl sits in the roadside mahogany
shooting me with a cryptic jargon —
which I prefer to the day’s cacophony.

An unquenched thirst     smiles
at the forewarning clouds.

My thoughts have sucked up the veins
of innovation and reconstruction
leaving me to my bones and flesh.

A foolhardy life is straining to walk free
from the wraps of cocoons interlaced by time.

__