I came to this October poem on a thinking night
When it was dark under a future promise of dawn
And a gentle wind blew on dry leaves in the street.
Temples made it, in stone centuries of time, space
That had trees to show for and old women praying
Their eyes closed in meditation, on temple steps,
When temples were yet to open for long time men.
Girls danced in steps, their hands up beating space.
October made the evening turn hugely on wheels
As we went high up in the air and land, like birds.
A bird chick had fallen from the nest in balcony,
A question in my mind if it flew back to its mother
Atop the air-conditioner unit, on its brown beauty. October rain needed to be caught in cupped palms
In the mind’s eye, on electric screen, in silver lines.
A mere camera of ephemeral fame could not do it.
A poem in early dawn wet with soft rain may do it.