Just now,
The sun was a striking sphere
Of orange red –
A fiery ball,
All set in lyrics,
To rest in paradise.

 

And now...
Against this freshly
Stained back-drop
Of crimson,
Fire-like flames!
The sun is lost behind....

 

Grey gills, grey fins.
Grey mouths, grey wings.
Grey-haired faces,
With eyes formed
By grey clouds,
Floating by.

 

Ardent.
Bloated.
Well-meaning, grey clouds.
Now almost black!
Waiting to burst open
From the fervent, well-laden skies. 

 

 

Mumbai
1998

 

                          

Geeta Chhabra