He sat outside while it rained. The red asbestos sheet sheltering him and the dog. Mother was making coffee in the newly shiny decoction set. And he could see it from the window.

Rain was getting heavier. Clouds were clashing against each other with vengeance. Sparks from flying off the electricity pole. He pulled another chair and put his feet on top of it. The sound of the rain falling made it impossible for him listen to his mother calling him.

She came and nudged him.

Startled and shocked, he let out a shriek—shriller than a girl—and dropped the coffee on the white tiles. He held the steel cup with the coffee falling all over and kept it on the wooden table. Continue reading “Fever”


Silencing of the city

In a city far away,

and a cottage above the hill,

Where red dust from arecanut flies.

and time spins webs

Into time.


Streaks of lights,

Pass through the window

Onto the pot of coffee

Boiling till the brim.


The wind rustles and whistles,

In and through.

The spaces and ditches.

where the trees part ways.


Where the symphony of birds,

Mingles with the sound of a stream;

Glistening under the yellow sun,

Hiding above

the canopy of blue mountains.


Where men and women

Walk with sickles in their hands

Sharper than the tiny stones

Stuck in their nails, along-with dirt.


And everyone who sees a black cloud-

Yells or screams

dogs hide under the pile of woods,

moths spiral outwards,

Out of a tiny hole.


Among all these you can hear,

shrieks and whispers

of the silencing of a city.