and this is called life..
you wake up to a morning with such swirling winds
lilting upon the curtains, hesitating near the green door
that opens to the garden that has woken up in haste,
all her yellow leaves untangled, and you read
chapter 12 from book 3 for class 202, in room no
047, to a set of students who don't want to
listen to anything..and then you come on a
rickshaw that is so cold and sick, hands like
ice sticks, and you almost cry reading the story
of the rajput guard who went mad, not able to
take shit and the rickshaw mans reminds you
that he has to drop you and go attend
a meeting, you try to whisper to him,
he does not listen. and then in class, where
students get business calls, you control the noise
acting strict.. and they cant believe it, m'am,
its so cold today give us attendance, let us leave..
and this is called life, the best alone day of the month
is spoiled.. and you just want to get into the sheets
and sleep, but the metro, the kid..when i meet her
will i be happier, will the splash of pink on herlips make me smile..