Damp still, sun’s rays trapped in the
womb of monsoon clouds,
As if the morning star was too
circumspect to break through
the sullen haze of uncertainty.
A flock of crows keep drilling
Into my unresponsive ears
their anxious search for
morning crumbs.
Blame them not; they need to see
the day ease out.
Yeah! Is the day done with
buying a sheaf of groceries,
craftily spun T-shirt,
relishing mouthfuls of
masala-laced dishes?
Or is it all to an existence
which begins in the dark....and ends there?
A query that peters out like
vaporous wispy clouds;
its hue changes before the
wink of an eye.
Uncertainty too is cloudy,
empties sooner than one can spot it.
Their crowing is down
to a satiated groan now.
They or some have found their crumbs.
