The symphony

The whole day he has to strain his eyes

Tending figures blue and red through

Thick ledger folios and colourful cheque leaves.

When the day will fade into darkness he will

Retire into the single windowed room in the lodge.

The antiquated fan while pains to rotate will

Groan and sign hot that will prevent

Mercury column falling back from torrid zones.

Sleep, a late visitor always; he will

Lie in wait indulging in thoughts of

The cool of the embracing bosom of his wife

Now languishing in an upcountry town.

Sunday evenings in summer will carry him

In some city bus to the inviting Marina.

He will stand facing against the salty breeze

And feeling the gentle pat of the frock

Of the sea on his feet; while she will

With closed eyes and trembling lips

Lie in wait for the stooping sky

Under cover of darkness in the east.

He seems one evening with him witnessing

A rosy cheeked and dreamy eyed girl

And her groom in stone-washed jeans,

His hands nervous and fingers restless,

Standing oblivious of the surroundings.

Yes, oblivious of the surroundings.

the exile is now younger by twenty years.

no sands under fee

but dry stubs of harvested paddy;

no dancing waves,

but the idle flow of the summer river;

no sodium vapour lamps

but the snowy beams of the moon;

no shadows of the concrete monsters,

but the graphite shades of the coconut palms.

They walk by river-side, a lone pair,

Towards the festival grounds not far.

He enjoys from behind the way she walks,

Elegant movements of her body and curves;

And how her braid long and thick

Tapering down like an elephant’s trunk

Pats on her pachydermic bottom

His hand reaches for her waist.

The satin feel of the feminine limbs

And the smell of medicated oil from her hair

Warm up surging blood in his arteries.

A quiver in his body, a stir in mind,

A ripple in the soul and he is

Slowly lifted to an exotic ecstasy anew.

The tinkle of the river flow, the rustle

Of the coconut leaves, the peering moon,

The temple ground, elephants in gold caparison

Drum beats and cheering crowds

He neither hears nor sees nor wishes for either.

A sweet symphony whistles through

His ears stirring the strings of heart

To raise a rare melody drenched in love.