Friday, 6 May 2016


The girl looks out at 
rain, straining to hear
the pitter patter as it hits 
the window sill,
anything to quit the
cries of the bitter battle
as father batters mother
for a mere tea spill or
a word deemed ill
She forgets and it doesn't matter,
because mother says
in topsy turvy worlds
this is just background score
you mute, and bruises are
where you blend make-up more
So the girl looks out at
birds, escaping rainy blows,
and wonders whether
baby birds fly lower and
cower in front of daddy birds too,
Till mother walks in and
yanks her out the dream
with a smack across the cheek
and yells
"Make tea before
bhai loses it too."

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