SEESAW

 

 

 

 

 

 

A  dreary, grey day of incessant rains.

Droplets of water clinging to bare branches ,

Time pooling into minutes,

minutes into hours.

The ticking of the clock,

The creaking of floorboards,

The indistinct gobbledygook of the TV.

 

On such days the mind wanders,

To Mali and its dusty, potholed streets,

Adrift in a sea of green, blue, red  metal steeds,

Sputtering, phuttering , clanking, honking,

And yellow motorised boxes, coughing

black smoke, rattling and juddering 

To Tomokorobougou, Badalabougou

Medinakoura, Sebenikoro.

Faces at the window,"100 cfa please",

« Madame livres pour enfants, peignes, mouchoirs,"

"No, don't clean my window, don't!'" to no avail.

 An onslaught of life,

Battering the fragile ramparts of self.

 

At such moments, the mind wanders,

To a quiet, rainy day, droplets of water

Clinging to bare branches like a necklace of tears.  

 

Arunima