Round-Bellied Monster

Yesterday, in the morning of the day

I rolled out of my house

In a loose pyjama

And a plaid shirt

For a casual stroll.

Sunday, in the city,

Is unlike any other day;

There is no bustle on the streets

And a hushed-up hustle huddles,

Unknown, unseen in some corners.

They had gone on a search;

It was a couple of years ago

When Lily was a child

And she wanted to find Hustle;

The huddled, unseen Hustle.

It was during one of those days

When cops in khaki blocked the roads

When schools were shut down

And families lived in closed quarters

Without a step, peep or puff outside

Corona, Lily believed, was a monster

With spikes of horns

Rolling around the neighbourhood

On his round and big belly

He hated kids; she knew.

So, one day, as the khakis dissolved

From the outskirts of our city

Lily, in her, tights and sweats,

Marched out of her pink door

With her hand wrapped around John.

Poor her, found no Hustle,

And the father-daughter duo barged

Into the peace of our pink house

With their shoes of dirt and

Looks of dismay.

All that day, Lily wore a pout,

Around the house, she carried it.

In the kitchen, in the bedroom,

As she ate and as she bathed

All day but not every day.

It’s been two years now

Lily is not three anymore;

From the windows of our house

Her eyes no longer peer outside

For some unseen Hustle.

These days, my girl of five

Spends her time by the windows

Gets her legs inside her jeans

Packs her bag with a stick

To march out in search of John.

Little does she know that

Dead-John, unlike Sleepy-Hustle,

Never huddles in the corners,

But flies away in the winds of time

Like the other Johns, Janes and Junes

Gobbled down by the round-bellied monster!