A blurry Monsoon night.
A moth merrily flapping around the
Blub, white, by the concrete block peripheral wall.
The silver line curtains unfurled down to the mossy
Dooryard colony
Hanging from the mango leaves
Pellucid
Jingling with the curtains from the jackfruit leaves
To which jiggle the algal men and women.
A second show!
And through the wooden window
With white grainy squares
Peep two eyes- awed eyes-
At the silver mingling
At the moth fumbling
At the mosses mumbling
At the algae shining beneath
An invisible moon.
The old clouds, perhaps, were prepared
To perish down and burry themselves
Within the roots of the colony.