The beggar woman and her beggar children. One clutched against lose folds of bosom. With a bandaged ankle, still bleeding. Bleeding for the past few days now. I wonder if that's just color. The color of blood. Another, loitering around. In a torn shirt, bottonless. Bottomless. Begging, palms outstretched, everytime any traffic halts. Laughing, in the dark. When no one's is around to see. When I hop cabs. Silently pushing them aside, to cross the road. I see her violet skirt, torn and running on the footpath, from one car to another. Trying to steal sympathy from a home-bound exodus. In that impatient pause at a red light. Red light. Today that ankle-bleeding-kid, held a pair of balloons. Bright pink and dust green. And secretly smiled with famished eyes, looking the other way. Must've.


A cabin with scores of watches. Just wrist watches, to be repaired, brought back to life. Too many of them, the wooden-cabin-legs could crumble. Tiny hands. Hours and minutes and seconds, lost in the company of scores of such others. Absolute chaos. All time is literally messed up. One tiny bald man, with tiny hands, sits under yellow bulb, among dozen light-lover-bugs. Concentrates, on the arch between his caterpillar eyebrows, and promises to finish the gargantuan task of inserting alive batteries, replacing scratched glass covers, drilling holes into damaged bands. Bringing back the right pace of time. And placing it back on waiting wrists.


..A tiny hole in my heart


Surya Prakash V said...

The fish professed love to the sea. For it was sure, it wouldn't breath long but for its floating cushion of salt.

The sea, cried in silence, for its womb held a million perils. And a forgotten love.

Inconspicuous, this love I feel for you right now. It would rest soon, after a heartfelt tug.

Raj said...

time fills everything.

Krish said...

I wonder if the inconspicuous tiny hole is what makes you see everything else in such grand scales..charming narrative.