Dusk

As dusk settles on the treetops

My languid dreams perch on the sky's bosom.

Under the canopy, my weary eyes look for yet another lost road. 

The highway lights blur with the sudden rain. 

Yesteryears look for a shade under the banyan tree. 

A dilapidated house beckons me.

Its corridor seems known to me

Like some blurred memory

with a layer of dust on it.

A scorching city rests for a while 

after being drenched in a rainbow spell.

The vehicles rush to return home

as the night's monochrome runs behind them.

Their desires get entangled with the highway's dust. 

A speck of longing here and there. 

After the first right turn there I will reach my house.

With the same old question in mind: after how many travels can I return to a home and not a house?

The walls burst in silence.

I water my indoor plants.

Water trickles down on the copper plate

just like pieces of night trickling down on the highway vehicles that are running towards home.

I rest in loneliness. 

My mind churns with the memories

of a summer afternoon

Memories of the house I grew up in.

My soul smells of the chipped wall paints.

The wall on whose bosom hangs our family photo

flanked by cobwebs now.