Sitting in a room knowing that nothing is going to happen,the sounds around me have no link with me.The roaring sound of the plane,the voice coming beyond the cream coloured walls,the constant cacophony of birds chirping like that of birds in a cage fail to awaken me from my morbid state.
Even the sudden blowing of the wind that makes the clothes almost fly ,i see the red faded cloth struggle to free itself through the wire meshed door on which crawls a little lizard with half a tail somehow reminding me of my myself as it slithers around with its uncompleteness if that’s a word.The aluminium container distracts me from my reptile related thoughts as it sings a song of itself,a song of life that can never be its.
The fly keeps buzzing,the partially opened door lets more light in hoping to show me something.
I am sitting in the middle of the house or maybe closer to it’s rear but I can still hear both the sounds one coming from the road with the swishing of the ‘jhaadu’ and the distant sound of my neighbours cage bird.
Something yellow enters the room a wasp perhaps come to sting me ,sting me out of my blissful slumber.