(A day of strange observations in the life of an addict, when under treatment in a rehabilitation center in India.)


“Is anybody in?”                    

Rockets up her disgruntled scream,

Her winking eyes staring up, beating the Sun,

Crows were drooling on high branches till then, had their heads dripping,

Caught in the trance of that tranquil noon,

They awaken displeased, shocked, alert,

Flock away to a safer position for a better view, cautious on the mid-street wires,

Her shrill pitch jolts up the building, has its windows jerk open with a shudder,

Summons the healing cement and bricks,

Tweaks their basic motive to exist,

Fumes of wrath sink in the air, has it sullen and heavy,

Robs the day, bright till then, of its yellow order,

Culls down an entire slot of eyes,

Rocked out of precious hard-earned slumber,

Disturbed, curious at her loud emergency,

“I need help, I need mercy,

I stay in the shanty by your side, just adjacent,

A matter of less life, and much death it is,

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