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