Thursday, June 2, 2011

Walking down to the library

A strain of music keeps brushing past my ear
It’s thick and long and it tickles my mind
With the vaguest hue of a memory
The details flow like cool water down my back
And it’s sweaty and hot in the Chennai street.

The world is a shade of yellow,
Under the hot bright bulbous sun
Sweat trickles down either side of my nose
As I wrinkle it to squint at the traffic
And I’d like to show Enid Blyton what a ‘Bright sunny day’ really is.

A couple giggle past on a motor bike
Weaving in and out of the traffic
Like butterflies.
A ponderous bus screeches to a halt
And they squeak past unscathed
Leaving the bus like a middle-aged bespectacled bachelor
Glowering after the heady darting butterflies
That court death under his wheels.

The song tugs at the edges of my consciousness
And I shake my head hoping to shake the colours it trails
Into a detailed memory.
But the colours diffuse
Shades and hues of a past both joyous and heavy
And I cannot place the memory or the song
And the sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades
And I can feel the droplets bead and form on my upper lip.

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