Sharp 12.00 PM
Afternoon
She is there
Nosing around
Poking, peeping,
Irritating ...
Curious as ever
"Too much of curiosity is not good"
Like water falling on stone
It has no effect on her
"What you reading?"
She asks, her eyes sharp, shrewd
Brows puckered in an ugly frown
"A book...a novel.."
"What about?"
"About a married girl being blackmailed about her past..."
She snorted...
"As usual, old story..."
"It's interesting ", I said
" Must be,"She smirked,
" Everybody is interested in other's business,"
I look at her pointedly
She shrugs
"Why don't they write about the futility of everything.... conquests and bloodbaths...
we are making history they say.....all rubbish "
"Yes, all rubbish! That is why it's not written about"
She puts her head down almost kissing her chest
"All rubbish! All rubbish!" She suddenly shrieks,
A cackle of laughter follows
Cacophonous....
I object but by then she is gone
At 12.00 PM
Every afternoon
She comes uninvited
Sitting on the leafy branch
Of my Chameli tree
Surveys the world around knowledgeably
Makes a few caustic comments about humans and their follies
Flies away spreading her wings wide
Perhaps
To peep in some other windows
And collect the leftovers of
Gossips and whispers
Of mellowed pain
I don't hide my feelings
She can't care less
Yet, if she is late
I look at the clock
And check the time
Is it not 12.00 PM ?
How come she is not here
My neighbour
Infallible Mrs Crow...
Shared with Poets And Storytellers United
