From the Hidden Windows
From the infinity of the hidden windows the cuckoo cooing ushering the morning through the darkness
Feroz has just set fire to the oven, and his brief body cloth he stretches to cover his ears and face
There is still a chill in the wind. Baby leaves are yet to deck up the bare skin of Neem trees
The oven is lending heat to the two street children
The birds' chorus seems never-ending
Flames glisten in the elliptical eyes of the children
In the cotton trees, the flowers have just begun reddening
The glow of the flame tinges the sharp face of Feroz
In the two eyes sits the expanse of struggle
From a distance, wafts a smell of rose
Sounds of sips from the teacups in a circle
Suddenly there was a commotion a few houses away
Ambulance
The quiet of the morning has gone haywire
Profuse tears and loud screaming, a flea in the tea
Nadir or zenith, you are beside me
___________________________________________
24 February 2023
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