Sunlit classroom, low walls.
Worn out teak furniture.
Glazed cement floor, two doors.
You walk across the corridor.
No boy or girl, no teacher.
A still ceiling fan, tubelights.
Seven crows perched on top of chairs
Sharing the same row.
Their mouths half-open,
How intently they stare at the blackboard.
Early morning traffic,
Everybody skips signals.
Your dad stops to buy
Yesterday’s news from the vendor.
You watch the world picking up pace.
Across the road
An eleven-year-old
Dusky child of city slums
Carries a white mouse
In her small hands
And plants a kiss
On its very pink nose.
One moment of timelessness
In a world that spins so fast.
