Pink Ice Paradise
Pink is the skyline over busy cityscape
The dusty gray building tops, the monolithic skyscrapers, metallic gleams of glass and chrome.
The kites are silent performing acrobats of the sky
And mysterious missionary birds fly in perfunctory V shapes
Pilgrims to cleaner climes.
The sky is build in progress
Stacking decks of icy pink cottonballs and lacing with golden froth...
sun backlighting the horizon
Creaming existence in a sultry glow
An exquisitely dressed look of urban Indian woman
Not a hair out of place..
The chirrups are muted
Alone a recalcitrant bird sings a whole chorus of protests
The cars relentlessly honk it down
Soon there is a settling silence.
Children swagger or stagger home
Bouncing ball against bat or carting stone satchels of primitive schoolbooks...sunken anchors of knowledge.
A few women stand, coy nose studs dazzling as the fall against each other with pretty petty laughter.
The prettiest raises her eyes to survey who is watching and meets the reproachful scowl of the old caretaker of the neighboring modern blue Church.
Our friendly neighborhood conscience, bland and watchful.
I look again at the overturned hemisphere above us, the bowl has turned pale violet...
The awesome light fractionally faded, a softer look donning its face.
A faint star silver blinks on the brink of nothingness
One long resolute wink at existence.
I wonder how many light years away...
I wonder
About men on that solar system
What would think
If they saw this world,
As it is today.
Is someone there watching my world from 'his verandah'?
As it was before the great dinosaurs and dolphins arrived
or departed?
We stand moored in isolated insularity in our respective Presents
Witnessing each other's Pasts.
Vastness visionary as always
A spatio-temporal boundary wall
A prison for dead ages
Silent preserver
Of our ways.
All rights reserved
(c) Amrita Valan 2014 and 2017
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