Countless egrets surf the blue sky beyond
while spunky squirrels down below
explore nooks and crannies for hidden treasures.
One egret swoops down playfully on a buffalo’s back,
and a noisy group of sparrows peck at pods
fallen from the tamarind tree,
 not distracted by the tail of the buffalo,
swinging to its own rhythm.  
In a shady corner, vibrant dahlias, orange, pink, and violet,
oft white-tipped, bloom with great ardour, and on the wall
sunlight flickers like a bird, restive and fidgety
 as green tea is poured into expensive cups,
through silver kettles in high rise buildings
 a few feet away.

The clouds above explode in white and a little gray too
against the backdrop of peacock blue.  
While a man in a disheveled tracksuit
runs and runs,
 tripping- tripping-tripping,
his mask
slipping- slipping- slipping,
but his tenacious grip on hope unslipping.
A mongrel whelps as the petrified man asks himself, tense,
will staying indoors really help- will it?
And runs faster – faster – faster.
The pied Kingfisher atop the telephone wire looks on, askance. 

4 thoughts on “Rhythms

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