Thirty years from now, I would still sit on a sofa,
In front of a television set sipping a cup of
hot coffee musing over the past.
Outside the inconsistent rain would pour out its heart
bringing in the pain and pleasure of living, to creatures,
varied that thrive together and apart.

The doorbell rings its musical jingle, I would wander
off to the door to bring the guest in, the phone mourns
and halts to a beep, outside I find on one. I return to my
chair to my world of dreams!

On the television, I watch a guest walk in with a warm smile,He speaks...And I presume to me.
Well you didn’t expect me did you?’ ‘No’ I say,
‘But I’m glad you’ve come. He says,
‘You have grown wise over the years, still elegant!’
‘Years have taken their toll though, yet I’m what I’ve been,’ says I looking inquiringly into his strange eyes.
‘Was life harsh?’ his lighted cigar brightens the dim light,
I focus my thoughts to place the stranger,
who has walked into my life in the late of night.

‘Coffee?’ I inquire, ‘yes please, sugar two cubes.’
I shuffle back with tray in hand while the cat settles in my
armchair and I settle on the sofa,
Still wondering who the stranger is? I continue..
‘Well, life has been what it ought to be,
With few ups and many downs,
Yet I pulled through, at times in company
and many a times alone.’

‘Well how have you been?’ I ask him.
‘Oh I walked the globe, met people who refused to let go,
met life in its heinous forms, sensed their pain
that made me realize what life was and is to them.’
‘Ah pain! It is an addiction, pleasure the perfection, both
wound together like snakes in mating season’
I become poetical in my expression.

‘Are these the only ingredients of life.
What about other feelings?’He asks,
‘love, lust, vengeance, ambition, success, loneliness,
Haven’t they played a part in your life?’

Once again I am lost in thought, the open book of my life
turns its own pages, The coffee gets cold, the cat settles on my lap,
There is a Power shut down! Damn it! I curse!
I wade through the dust for a candle to light.

I return with a light for the stranger in the night,
Mister? I call out.. No answer. Has he left? Was I dreaming?
The silence greets me in the warmth of the dim light.
I talk alone in the dimness, trying to focus on the dieing candle light.
‘Well the feelings were part of my life,
If I hadn’t sensed them, I wouldn’t have lived a life.
They helped me to assume, presume, realize the depths of human emotions,the intensity of love, the ugliness of hate, the euphoria of success, the purity of truth, the nonsense of revenge, ethics in its hollowness, beauty in its true form, the elegance of simplicity,All have played their part well.’

The night bird sings its plaints, a frog croaks under the canopy of mushrooms, the crickets pierced the stillness of the night,
‘Stranger would you halt for the night?’ I expect him to be around.
I hear, now a real knock, a loud knock; I answer the door,
The stranger stands outside dripping wet in half moon light
‘The rain has stopped, the night is soft,
Will you come with me before the wake of light?’
I turn around to look at the sleeping cat, the closed book of my life,the cold coffee, the embers in the grate, the pen in its holder.
‘Yes, my work is done; I have lived my life,
Let me brush my hair before I leave with you tonight!’

Sumathi Mohan
7th November, 2009

We will continue to write Mary till the pen touches its holder!

Sun, 11/08/2009 - 4:20am

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