Molten Days

“I feel like a dark house,” he said.

“A dark house,

With a small window

That overlooks a narrow lane.”

“The window bestows me

With a small square of sunshine

That melts my days

And turns them into the air I breathe.”

“Sometimes,

A smiling stranger walking down the lane,

The fluttering loose end

Of a woman’s bright sari,

Catch my eye

And I tell myself,

‘You can see real things.

You are not dead,

Not just yet.’”

     ***

©Rasagya Kabra, November 20, 2011