(for Kiran)

My mind goes back to those years Of train journeys, the wind carrying scent of manure from the fields. Black granite torsos dotting the passing Landscape, arms hauling in the nets From the abutting lagoons and lakes.

And even then, this noise of pelting Words, against my finger tips. Remember how over there the rains, those never ending epics, kept blurring Our days and nights, facts and fictions? Rain here, today, is gushing from eaves,

Carrying those encrusted worlds and words.