You creep through my window in the mornings,
Carrying with you the melody of azaan.

Sometimes you make neem branches sway in delight,
A faint perfume and dot tiny white flowers on my window sill.

During monsoons you decide to play a prankster,
Tangle branches with electricity wires,
And push the city into darkness, tip-tap of the rain and glistening of the streets,
A blanket of stars envelope the city, bringing in a cold gush,
You set the weather, for books, quilts, and long telephone calls.

Most mornings I mutter angrily on your doings,
Of how with one swish you manage to push the curtains over bottles of lotion,
Petite bottles that lean against the mirror and adorn the wooden table,
Into a tumbling mess, half scattered and half that send me scattering away,
To search for my kohl pencil that happily glided under the dresser.

But the day before, overcome by the laziness that holidays bring along,
I stood in front of the window and not the mirror for a change,
Brushed aside the curtains to have a taste of what calm feels like,
Of the slight breeze that glanced my face, warmth of the sun that caressed my soul.

It taught me a thing or two while passing by,
Some days take a pause, just stay still, let the worries settle,
We have a long life ahead, to crib and shout, dash and run without a second glance,
But today, stand for a moment longer, five more minutes is all I ask,
To feel alive, one moment a day.


7 thoughts on “Breeze

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