This morning I was made of ginger tea,
(Inspired from Respiration by Jamaal May)
yellow line, a boy counting masks,
stepping out of coaches, walking, and
crunching old leaves.
No, this was not all, but yellow
had spilled along.
The guard at the office, wore Khaki in a
weather of If
shook my id card, held in hazy sunlight
with spectacles still in pocket asked, “Second
Last day?”
I replied like a bee, busying the question
mark.
X-Ray machine scanned all that bags had.
Meanwhile, the guard on a journey,
asked “What are you working on?”
“All of this.” The
bee had become
a dot to stop because what if I tell him
I just heard working as walking and that I don’t
like the colour of the ground today? What
if I
tell him I was thinking to be a traffic
light and
that sky has been a bad question paper?
Am I stupid because I worry about disasters
more regularly?
I walk more softly now while passing across
machines.
guard had a few more things to scan
“Then toh there is a lot you can write
about — Parali, dhua, environment.
Just write about everything nearby. Bas ho gayi
dissertation.”
Snapping his fingers, the soundtrack of
easy and simple.
Sun was still in shade keeping it all very
real.
I wore my bag.
He shook another hand, another id card. And
Just like that we took steps to be relevant
again.
And,
Then he smiled.
That was last time I saw something that
stayed long after the machines scanned out.
Looking back, it was also the spotlight.
His crinkled eyes kept pausing
everything nearby.