Late Monday evening
I’m home early.
Well, earlier than I used to be
back from where I come from.
I’m sitting by the window
which filters the outside
have seen the sun go melting
staining the fabric of the sky
and as if on a cue,
the street lamps have come alive.
It was a bit noisy before
distant planes roared
cars carried people on-board
random strangers on the street
talking aloud, not knowing what is discreet
and birds, thank God for birds
singing and sighing their way home.
But all seem to have gone quiet now
and silence cloaks the world around
only the clock ticks this side of the window
incessant as heartbeat.
In a city,
where I don’t know many
and not many
Its hands I’ve set on the time back home,
its voice, sweeter than birdsong.
-adee, Monday, 20/04/2015, London.
P.S. thanks to dear friend Vainateya for the gift.
It is a really special one.