Thursday, April 13, 2017

Where Pigeons Play Kho Kho

I watch the 
pigeons play kho kho;
a dreary day, hot,
they face headwinds, life!

I cry, helpless,
where the hell have 
I kept 'em keys 
to the locker?
Yeah, there where 
I've imprisoned my will to run!

Ah, the strides,
towards crashing waves,
always towards home
for a ripe mango,
to the art, words
and all things golden
— from the friendly sunset
to the angry yolk in 
the half-cooked egg,
served with milk, 
on humid Monday mornings
before I rush for fights.

Hardly do I play now,
I stare at open windows,
at the leaves who dance,
young and hearty,
while pigeons play;
yes, I've forgotten kho kho!

Picture courtesy: Sreetama Bagchi (instagram: @sreetamabagchi)