When a bagful of slumber made my eyes red
When the old teacher questions the tables
at the neighbour's mud-coated varenda
A lurking cane spells me stammering with usual mistakes.
A lantern throws my forty-five drgree bending shadow towards an uneven darkness.
I was poor in mathematics
thats what the teacher said
when the crab like me from the old maid's innumerable folds,
tried hard to drive away
the pleasure of sleep
and the burden-some promises to be picturised in the book,
The old maid said many a times
under the blanket of her fables
that there is a 'me' with me.
the inner one is demonic
when another has the God's stolen mask.
years after ..I turned to stories.
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