Balcony

Take a deep breath,
Listen to the sound of the gushing air,
Rejoicing and revelling, shemelessly smirking at the old ceiling fan
which had orphaned it.

Look up, outside the window, you see their balcony, their plants,
Beautiful red and crimson flowers;
The lady who used to pick the little brats, yes, the same one who had lost
her husband last year, is down with tuberculosis,
She's got a son who is as old as my sister,
Are the ungrateful flowers aware of this? Maybe they are!

As you look at the horizon, you see old television antennas,
Standing tall, weathered, like the bones of a prehistoric creature which once ruled the planet;
STalwart and emotionless, like ancient kings, they ignore the puny cable wires
And the atrocious "Dish TV" hubs.

You see old houses, withering in pain, their skin falling off,
revealing a maze of skeletal brickwork;
Do you hear them crying for help?

The street lights are on, silence prevails,
a bat flies past the balcony, or was it an owl,
The green leaves of the Baganvelia are transformed into saffron wreaths,
By the dazzling of the neon light outside.
The grandfather clock strikes one,
The occilating soundwaves break through your eardrums
And reaches your heart,
You look back into your room,
Dirty cobwebs have spawned all over the ceiling,
The tubelight has become dim with dust,
The mirror is stained with the glue of old "Bindis".
The fan moves slower,
Time moves slower,
You close you eyes and arrive somewhere,
But not here............