which explains why the repetitive displays of jubilation
frightened her
it might not have any age, she laughed, glancing at
poetry by grey haired poets,
but it has a season..
the remains are seeds, or timber
or medication, sealed,
to be stored in damp, dark places
when she hung herself
it was hours before daylight

the dilapidated house, dwarfed by a more sensible
neighborhood,
is guarded by Taaya ji’s unreasonable Will,
like the surly,
angry ferns clambering up its front door.

who will go to live there, now?
not friends, not extended family, not the children, god
forbid.
on the spaces around it, the monkeys still leap noisily
from trees to newly barbed balconies,
and munch on stolen food.
it’s going to be tough, wading through the byways.
forest department, corporation offices, contractors,
courts, the rapidly expanding demands, the rising
costs of everything under the sun, except your
patience…
it’ll need a lot,
time and drudgery and disagreeable encounters to
clear the hassles, and the paper work.
those rare early mornings, when something awakens
me before sunrise, the thik-thik of his walking stick
halts midway, and he looks back from the hill to listen
to tiny birds twittering in the valley