A lonesome man walks on a glistening road,
running crookedly between ripe green fields, August rain.
A horse stands in the street,
eyes watery, tail flipping;
A shop selling used furniture, crammed with
vacant chairs and stools;
The three images, random,
like the unending, heated
arguments, of the screaming couples, the sparring warriors, Ancient
Rome, bald arguments,
their swords that cut and thrust,
and draw blood,
arguments running, making no sense, done only
to spite the other hissing
partner, in the curtained rooms;
Heard often, these clashes verbal, then forgotten,
boring routine, snatches of hatred, embedded in loveless marriages,
but caught by other avid listeners, who forget their own,
on lonely nights, when rain comes and knocks at the doors, windows,
like an unwelcome tramp, across the urban deserts, from
Madrid to Mumbai, highlighting isolation supreme.
Visit Sunil at http://www.drsunilsharma.blogspot.in/.