The last local had gone long ago;
The tired rickshawala returning to his shelter, after his last day trip.
Ms. Neighbor has kept her window open to-night
There’s a mirror there in front of which she now standing
And applying facial lotion on her fare face;
Her untied hair flying in her room’s fan.
A civet, stealthily, walking on her roof;
It stops for a while in front of her window.
The 42 of Park Street shining in night sky.
A heavy freight car jerk my building.
The night is calm, gay & pensive.
The wind is singing a Rabindra Sangeet; it is my landowner’s habit–
Watching repeat telecast of evening Bengali soap.
Aji Bijono Ghore, Nisith Raate…
She used to love this song…in my voice… amongst many, I used to sang to her…
My eyes move to the sky–red & cloudy…
Another freight truck…again quake…
Ms. Neighbor now taking selfie…may be a good night one for her love…
(She also used to do this often…)
My eyes move to the alley, where Laali–pet stray dog of my another neighbor–
Playing with her cat friend catch me if you can…
Kolkata…how was your day….
If anyone want to read the previous parts of We Few…, please find them in Kolkata at Anthology section of my blog…