This Afternoon

It is the same indifferent sky,

That peeks in patches through the foliage, the breeze comes in blasts
 and blows the curtain

in the same way, in this lazy afternoon,

as the sun prepares to go down

to make way for the night.

But the world has changed.

Mother is not lying anymore 

on the veranda couch,

Watching television, calling daughters

and sisters by turn,or browsing through her phone, neither is she sitting

on her proverbial throne,

calling out to the maids,to run errands,

expressing disapproval 

now and then.

Mother 's story is told,

Her sick and helpless existence

has exhausted itself out,

Rest of the scenes stand their old ground,unchanged and repetitive.

Only a terrible thirst rises at the throat

and a terrible solitude

grips the otherwise normal

days by the neck,

something says something from the past 
in the kitchen, by the window,

something inexplicable repeats itself,

As if scenes come alive

from another birth.