Monsoon Moment

[FrankThird]

A warm wind washes the forecourt
Palms sway - lithe dresses on a line
Droplets splatter the dwarapalaka
he dances round the puddles - a black
faced shaker faqir. Raj ribbons prominent
from an unmentionable age

Guards in Empire Khaki wave me through
heads wagging side to side as Hindus do
The lift groans to a stop - braying recalcitrant

I climb the stairs to the third. Saturday's
the hall would be packed with accolades
Chivas Regal tipplers and the exquisiteness
of Shamsham Begun

My trunk call to Holland rings, my
neighbour from across the corrider
waves - beckons me. Music and colour
flood from his suite, redolent with Arabian
cooking. I sense his new bride nearby - timing

I take the call, her voice sweetens
my day from a million miles away
The lights flicker then fail. My room
illuminated from a street lamp

I see, from across the building
a young man sitting, seemingly
so close I can touch, fussed over
caressed by his mother

From the shadows I see his sisters
flounce gaily - sensously around them
in silk colour-splashed saris. My desire
is to join them

The monsoon tail slashes the window
Are you there?
Yes, I am here!

The scene stays with me for some time

I miss home