On days when roads are busy with feet
I forget places
Places I have lived
when memories become companies
I wander those places
But the roads are empty and quiet now
Low walls with red bricks
Is all I remember of the past
Light rains splattering on the sun baked mud
mouth half opened drawing in the earthy smell
And nose high up in the air
Even now I breathe in the earth
the rotting fruits swelling and bursting
fruity scent blends with the air
half dressed women still spread grains
on the rocks that stood high
over the dwindling town
the mad man and his rituals
chasing his shadow pulling his matted locks
with hundred eyes rarely on him
he wonders if he will ever get it
his shadow always the faster one
if tomorrow comes
will he still chase shadows?
Or hit unseen humans?
Or simply remain locked in his mind?
That’s if tomorrow comes.