The call never came

















(This photograph is not by me :it is photo of an old photograph of what life was like a hundred years ago in Bhopal. A very evocative picture )

Thinking nights cannot easily sleep
Full of dark secrets in the belly
That rise as smoky-eyed dreams,
When awareness takes an abrupt turn.
The tree stood mute by the temple
A man cogitated on the verandah
Another, on his knees, stared at the river
An old man squatted, his head bent,
Among turbaned men of another time,
Awaiting the call from across the river.
Actually the call has never come
It never comes in dreams and art.