Sunday, November 07, 2004

A Spot of Green, A Dash of Blue

My house overlooks a garden.
It is not a brilliant one, but
It is nice and green nevertheless.

There is an old man.
His house rises from where the street ends;
A thin wall tries in vain
To protect his privacy.

I and other passers-by
Add to the din and smoke
Which are his constant companions.

I wonder whether his window
Shows him anything green.

There is a child
Whose house is in a by-lane
Of a busy market area.
His house is small and damp,
With windows staring into blank walls.

When he has to stretch his limbs;
He comes out of his house
And through the alley,
Goes into the bustling market.
He sees the shopkeepers
And the customers
Cussing and bargaining over trifle things.

The boy looks up,
Away from the crowd
And through the banners and tarpaulins;
To catch a cloud floating away.

His daze is broken
By a honking car
Or the rickshaw-walla's curses.

His dreams are thus not very long.

Every one deserves his landscape;
A spot of green, a dash of blue.
Some people do not get it
And some who do,
Do not see it.

- Kriti Sen Sharma