The wind teases their hair,
moments back neat and silksoft,
now wild and dishevelled.
You see their long proud backs
craned over the prouder riders
zooming past you
while you try to cross the road.
You hmph at it
and shrug off the tinge of longing
that spurs within.
The next moment you are reminded
of how the toothpaste tasted
in your morning attempt
to cleanse the yellow off your teeth
and how the bile burned your foodpipe.
You mentally note to ask the doc next room
how night-long cries result in morning biles.
You wonder why they switched to
namboodiri's at home.
When you complained, amma said -no flouride,
appa blamed the P&G.
He misses the point wholly sometimes.
maybe he is aging.
you conclude
meswak tastes better.
You think of how melanin,
in varying amounts, does wonders
you think of men walking the cleaner streets
you think of men gaping at the fairer skinned
you think of men dreaming of firmer breasts
you think of men dancing with the long-legged,
taller than themselves, perhaps
It seems the e-mails reach faster these days
than the
meghdhoot of the stupid thoughts in your head.
Should you now feel foolish
for all the time you vained yesterday night
sleeplessly lying on your bed
trying telepathying people who took to flight?
