by Anindita Sarkar
His eyes greet the sunrise,
the leaves whirl
on the melody of spring
and give him a chill
he cracks a quail bird’s egg
drinks it raw, unpasteurized.
He sees his wife, kneading bread
with her overworked palms
in the sun-cracked kitchen
with lifeless walls.
She blushes like a swan
his heart flaps like a magpie
the wind wafts the scent of rose.
A romantic rendezvous
Orchestrated by fate.
Their eyes move unobtrusively
to each other,
dreaming to get back
to their midnight pillow fights
on their four-legged cushioned bower.
The cows are glued to each other,
social distancing is not a necessity for them.
But he needs to self-quarantine on the tree,
unwary of the locust invasion in his village,
due to lack of spare rooms and his insolvency,
so he sways on his hammock
counting the white clouds
prancing across the swathe of emerald sky
until the duet of the owl and nightingale
Lulls him to sleep.
Anindita Sarkar is a Research Scholar from India. She completed her MA in English Literature and is presently persuing her Mphil Degree from Jadavpur University, India. Her works have appeared in Indolent Books, Door is Ajar, Litbreak, The Bombay Review, Bosphorous Review, among others.
