Footsteps

I hear footsteps behind me

Seizure grips me with its chilly paws

biting into the nerves, sinking into the heart(s)

A plunge beneath the below 

takes me to those olden days...

when the sun was bright, dazzling and shining on me

when from the rusted painted grills of the seperating window

I could see the honks of the cars and 

hear the sun reflecting on the nauseating

dull windows of the ambassador

A constricted view, small in height I was.

The early morning scenes of the marwari on his cycle

chanting "Hare Ram"

making his way, slicing the cool breeze of the summer morning

the newspaper boy fighting against time to 

have an early brunch at 10 o clock

when the chilly sun of the afternoon 

dries the moist shreds of pickle

aroma attracting flies

a pillow to rest your head on and doze off 

away from the trials of the day...

I turn back to look

6 o clock

6 o clock

light fading in the reddening sky

waking up to the dim embers of some leftover sun

dragging toward a violet evening

dazzling streets and watered avenues

artificial

of a soulless existence of an evening

battered by the waiting for a glimpse

waiting for the bus on an empty street full of people

alien faces, disturbed soul

of those midnights when a lurch interrupts a devastating sleep

full of black blacks and black whites

shadows crawling  tickling 

the inner recesses of the mind

and bruising the hearts

the sun is lost in a profound haze

tried to be solved by many a guru

There is nobody

I return, I return, I RETURN, I return...