Breakfast looking out over the rain-stippled pool. A sudden explosion of parakeets. One merges with the crown of a neem tree. Two perch on the stone façade of the next building, clinging half-way up the man-made cliff.
Mid-morning. Looking out over Nehru Park. The weather’s achingly beautiful. A soft rain. Just right for coffee and a smoke by the window while “Bobby sings the blues”. But I lack the time for either.
On a glistening road while the tyres whisper to themselves. Rain in my breath, and on the sidewalks marigold beds gleam through the grey air.
The sun seeps out. Slow sleepy afternoon with the hint of a breeze in the ticking leaves, small distant noises that highlight the silence, a smell of dust and drying rain, the murmur of voices in the next room. Fighting sleep. And memories.
**** ****
8 comments:
Don't fight memories Old Man. Let them fall on you like the rain.
Slow sleepy afternoons are made for remembering. And sleep that creeps up on you.
Give in.
Agree with ph there. Why fight memories? Soak in them and drench yourself in the rain. Very beautifully strung thoughts...except a few cosy missing links.
Mush pachhilo bujhi khoob ? giggles)
-SSS
"explosion of parakeets" - what a lovely image.
No no, don't give into that awful memory-inducing-rain-drenching afternoons!!! That way madness lies and all that!
shoghono gohono raatri'r shundor translation ;)
"teach us to care and not to care..."
There's a job going in New Delhi I could apply for. Reading your post today, I am sorely tempted.
I don't think it would do my Spanish much good, somehow, though.
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