Mom cat

The cat seems messing and not gone
With a kitten held by its loose scruff.

Mom cat is searching for other night.
The scraping of the night is a sound

In the inner lobe of the ear’s poems.
Cats are poems on your hot tin roof

They sky-drop , flow as rain waters,
Snaking through roof’s corrugations.

(A gentle recall of Raja Rao’s novel The Cat and Shakespeare)



What caused such a big tumult
Between you and a vague other
Near the school’s rickety steps

That it outlived you and other
Like museum ,all things vague
In the city’s defined existence?

The only thing clear is tumult.
All else about the faces is blur.

(Referring to the poem The school where I studied by the Israeli poet Yehuda Amichai)