Friday, April 19, 2013

Sounds of a Morning House

The morning is not a cock's crow
it rings a bell in your head
the alarm is arrogant
it shrieks to make you deaf
as she shivers to teethe a ritual
one that earns her bread and butter
the pots and pans clamor
and the kitchen
turns to a concert hall
water scrubs
like a river to burst soap bubbles
hibernated by a hymn
offered as a token of thanksgiving.

Tanks empty their bellies
through taps, filling the thirst
of empty buckets waiting
to get drowned with dirt
as the maid imitates
the three monkeys of Gandhi.

Oil hisses to lacerate eggs
sold by its shells
on a pan baking
at boiling point
with a tea sip, the crust
of the brown bread breaks
to be chewed like grass
molars bite in vain
a few minutes later
the door closes
with a thump
as the lock copulates
with the key
to seal a house
from the sounds of a home,
ready to sleep again.

First published in the Second issue "Sound" in the Kalyani Magazine.


Pooja Sharma Rao said...

Absolutely stunning images and interesting choice of words !loved this !

Pooja Sharma Rao said...

Absolutely lovely images and interesting choice of words !

Hrishikesh Bawa said...

Such a vivid description..

rinzu rajan said...

Thank you Pooja and Bawajee! This poem came in a momentous moment! :)

Anonymous said...

A wonderful capture of daily routines filling up a home in the morning! Specially loved the last 5 lines...

The madrasi said...

was more of a picture than a rhyme :) perfect