Kashyap Bhattacharya: Getting Late


"Hello there.."
"Anyone in the crowd.."
"..Who has a handkerchief?"
Sorry for the bother.
Needed to wipe my tears..which
Often, without prior warning, roll from my eyes.
When I don't need them.
When I'm trying to be happy.


Goodbye Mr Jones.
I'm off to the shops.
"Painting the walls?"
"White! that's a nice colour!"
Think I might buy some paint for my room.
That would be good.
To paint a blue sky over the cloud of darkness
That always hangs around me.
And I'll buy yellow.
A nice sun in my blue sky.
It will keep me warm.
I love the sun.
I never see the sun from my window.

Getting late.
I hate this T.V
Shows too much violence, too much hatred.
Weird things they show on T.V nowadays.
Feel cold.
No coal in the fireplace.
The windows are open.
Close the window. Stare out of it.
See the neon lights, glowing, across the street.
Young women and men lining up..
To enter the disco.
My legs are weak. I have arthritis.
Besides..who would take me?
My mister died three years ago.


Lights off.
Getting late. Too late.
Shivering under this bedcover,
I silently stare at the ceiling.
The paint has dried..peeled off.
I'm seeing darkness again.
There are no stars in my sky.
I forgot to paint them.
The tears are crawling out of my eyes again.
Wish the lady had given her handkerchief to me.