off their course
All the swollen dams
[This poem is from the collection of micropoems, "Fireflies". The poem was written during the time of the devastating floods in Kerala in 2018 . The photograph is a recent one, clicked during the torrential rains in 2021. The relevance of the poem, unfortunately, continues.]
The crow hangs
around the eaves today. Just as he had done the last morning. Yesterday he had
slipped his beak into the rain gutter to take a sip of the previous night’s
rain. Today he’s prancing along the trough to see if there’s any water – here,
there or just around the corner. Well, no. Today is not his lucky day.
He flew in to
this neighbourhood just a few days ago. It's a kind of homecoming. He had flown away from here way back when the
pigeons had taken over these roofs. Strangely, the pigeons are nowhere in sight
The crow wakes
up from his reverie. He slants his gaze into the eaves trough once again. Could
there be some drops caught at the corner? Or near the spout? Just enough so he could throw in
the much-fabled pebbles? Then the water might rise a bit. It just might! But, no,
there’s not even a drop. For, it had not rained last night.
the seasons nowadays. They used to span the year. Now they come and go as they please,
every day. The rain was pelting the roof just the other night. And today the
entire trough is dried up. Now, where can he find some water to wet his throat?
Wherever the pigeons find it, perhaps. Where are the pigeons, by the way?
Fall was yesterday
Summer had its way last night
It might rain tonight.