A long lost friend is happy to see,
surprised he is and I can see,
a decade back he lived with me,
drove my jeep all night and in hours of wee,
now lives with his family,
but still we see,
again me in him and him in me,
checks my new car says must have been a nice ride,
let us park it, under the shade sahib.
nice neem air is in a cluster of huts living by,
nobody knows Varahi, Santalpur and the cultures they have kept alive,
living together a small hutment of a brotherly muslim clan,
many times blamed for doing Pakistan,
few houses, a dargah, goats, dogs, hens, friends,
a tired horse travelling from lucknow to bhuj,
tired midway,
has shine whiter than sun,
many more things in that stillness, seems no end,
let us have food sir like to have chicken?
I say problem of cholesterol, cannot have none,
also don’t cook me in oil, or let me make my own.
Help yourself Sahib, some my wife has made,
some you can on your own.
and a lot we ate,
hot sun got hotter at the mid-day,
great home but bad house could not keep that heat away,
we have air conditioner, a car, a highway, that will be better I say.
Stay up for a day or two,
My reflection asks me to,
but, cannot dude, later,
Time is to me. Space it’s unto you.
No comments:
Post a Comment