It’s the world photography day.
A squirrel is trying to nibble at the blue shirt hanging on a pillar.
A lizard looked out of ventilation of the bathroom yesterday, near the same place as it was raining cats and gods.
Dragonflies and horseflies,
Though he charges ten rupees per tea,
How does he maintain the same quality per serving,
Is a mystery. I have served tea.
It’s drizzling and a piece of plastic chair is my seat under the neem tree.
If I were asked to live a memory of this life again,
It would be this.
The tree leaves are dancing,
And all the faces which were familiar to me have completely been erased from my memory.
The freight train passes at random times. The passenger and the express are no longer running. I look towards the track which might be used as the pathway in Winter.
Yellow butterflies flutter by.
Rustling leaves, emptiness.
Heavy vehicles on duty.
Free from desire. I never had any.
Many birds commingle on a branch,
They look innocent,
They sing jingles,
It’s about time,
A portal opened,
A snoring ring,
A quiet bird perched,
Quietly on an electric wire,
Oblivious to oblivion,
Immersed in its own glorious fumes,
It looks at the caravan of moths,
It looks at the grass,
Its chirping is terse,
It looks at the timeless dance,
It was here, now it’s nowhere.