The December wind
This Monday morning wind,
December 4,
Raw and arrogant,
Aware of its power immense,
Walks like a mast elephant,
Rampaging everything,
Or, a youth in love,
Caressing everybody with its
Alpha hands,
Knocking things in the
Deserted hall, crowded
Living room,
Of a 2BHK suburban-Mumbai flat;
The cold breath of mild winter
Being carried
On its invisible wings,
—How does it sweep the entire region!
This big-bosomed wind, knocking off the caps
And slipping inside the shirts and tinkling
Bare skins—
And whistling in pleasure,
A loud dulcet long moaning
Heard after very long in a
Working couple’s bedroom,
The whistling done by a
Smiling patient recovering
Slowly,
From a fatal disease,
Or—
Like an out –of-work guy,
Sitting/fretting home for three
Bleak months,
And, suddenly getting hired to-day
On a long-distance call,
For a tiny office full of faded hopes,
In busy
Detroit,
Aarhus,
Delhi,
Or,
Jerusalem.
Destiny Poets
Uniting and celebrating the best "Writers" and "Poetry" from around the world centred out of Destiny Church Wakefield
The poem’s narrative sweep is like one long continuous camera tracking-shot.Its unblinking gaze taking in the daily urban ephemera and relating a story where the whole is greater than the sum of the parts.