And Another Day Ends...in Dance

With the two-week lockdown imposed by the state government to curb the rising cases of Covid-19, once again we find ourselves face to face with ourselves and the wall...the wall could very well be a screen of one's smartphone or of the laptop, or it could simply be that chiaroscuroed space scaled by the vagrant shadows in varied degrees...

I try to stay within the confines of the house, cook a lot, plan much, execute little, and let the ruthless titanic might of Chronos snatch away my hours mercilessly. But, come six o' clock in the evening, and my feet haul me up to the terrace to indulge in an hour of leisurely walk, while feasting upon the changing vistas of a sprawling sky. Almost invariably, a colony of crows and a couple of Brahminy kites land up staging a short play. The plot is always the same, the manoeuvres different. The Brahminy kites, by the virtue of being the birds of prey, are perceived as the usual suspect of homicide, or should we say 'corvicide' by a  skeptical  group of crows, who chase them around, pecking them furiously, in an effort to steer them away from the fledglings in the nest. Now, call it the paranoia of parenthood or sheer collective hooliganism, we will never know. But guys, I have to give it to the kites for maintaining their calm all through this exercise and letting the crows  have the last word.  But, I wonder who has the last laugh...I'd like to believe it's me, the sole witness of this daily drama. 

Two days ago however I was treated to a very unexpected finale. The chasing game had reached its usual dénouement with the victorious  crows emptying  the sky in a hurry to return to their loved ones. The Bahaminy kites too had conducted a rigorous inspection of their territory, patrolling the area a few times. But instead of diving homeward, the pair soared higher and higher, catching the thermals... above the gold of the setting sun to the blue quivering heights they glided , and what followed was a visual poetry flung across the sky. 

Suffused in the golden

mist of the late evening,

there they were

threading their way

across the deepening 

blue of a dying day.

One pursuing the other,

at the acme of

swallowing heights

away from the

hurried world of men,

gyrating, gliding, 

sidling and sliding,

sensuous in their

twilight courting, 

they danced to the

melancholy of a 

lonesome sky...

to the inner music

of a love unspoken,

to the gentle calling

of the rising vesper...

They danced until

the sudden onrush 

of the tropical night

drew them apart, 

One disappearing 

into the comfort of 

a coconut grove 

the other cruising on

to follow the sound

of the crashing waves.

Natural in their

togetherness

and accepting

in their separation

these Brahminy kites

eternised an instance

of the fallen hour,

bringing home to me  

my own yearnings

and my own 

silences