The afternoon shadows have slowly vanished. We have yet to decide our future and theirs . Nothing is clear, not even where we stand in the scheme. Perhaps we don’t exist .Or, may be, we do .Who knows, who can tell.
There is a gentle rustle In the coconut frond .Our hand fans fail to stir the wind around. Outside, in the garden the squirrel runs up the tree. Soon a half-eaten guava falls to the ground .This very moment we don’t understand. We are unable to decide .
Soon the night will be on us .The crickets will chirp as if nothing has happened. The crows will retire noisily to their nests as if a gunshot is heard over the trees and rooftops .
We have seen it many times and heard it from our fathers This is not the first time .We are entirely paralyzed In our face and mind.