The Fifth Day of Power Failure


Ramazan in the eyes of a four year old:

oozing jalebis, tangy samosas and chilled red blood,

that he likes and doesn’t.

Call of the muezzin; the call for lights off

and such sweetness are memories made of…


Shadows that lengthen.

The scenes fade away.

And all that remain are the spoils of that day.


Gathering dust, storm clouds flit to the north.

Barren rocks do not empty bellies fill but

will lightning leave its stormy drill?

The earth has treasures and so does the sky…


Leg shackled to the pole of power

will he look up or down?

That clot, that blot, that mortal wretch

who fifth day of loss with tearless eyes

faces the winds of change.


The lights go off in those selfless eyes

and he stands with shoulders bent.

The burden of a fiery spirit

chained in bliss of solitude

that has never led the feet astray.

He stays where chained,

he stays where put.

The rubber burns, the smoke rises,

the chains fall down,

he …


Where is he?


10:00 pm




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