By Tushar Kulkarni
7:15, the clock reads.
He jolts up and rubs his eyes.
Dazed, reaches for his glasses.
Ignores the shrill cries.
Ready now, walks to the bus stop.
Boards the No. 4 to Noelly lane.
Sits in the far end, by the window
Closes his eyes as clouds pour rain.
He enters the room
Looks around for eyes.
None meet his
And loud grow the cries.
Gulping, he goes to his seat.
And lets the day pass.
With each hour the cries go shrill
There's a lot of sand in that hourglass.
The din of the corridor, the white silence
With thoughts for company, he braves the day.
While the rest seem to frolic about
He readies himself for the last night of May.
The No. 4 takes him back home
He washes up and eats cold bread.
He makes his bed and lies down there.
And as he sleeps the cries go dead.
He wakes up from the grey nightmare.
He opens his eyes to that warm landscape.
He takes in all the hues so familiar
They erase black monotony, what a colorful escape.
And as he overwhelms his senses with the scenery
He sees Vanessa and the kids, running towards him.
His heart melts and fills his eyes.
Vanessa cries and cries, 'Take us along, Jim!'.
He opens his arms and closes his eyes
A clock reading 7:15 takes over his sight.
He tries to open his eyes, but in vain.
The blindness returns, and a new day takes away the light.