Vacancy

They have cut down the Neem tree. 

It wasn't much of a tree anyway,

reed-like and just about hanging there at

the road-turn

looking vaguely spastic. 

It didn't burst into blooms like the Gulmohar

by it's side, it was never known to have

much of an aesthetic sense. But

it had a staggering quietness about it

that caught passer-bys off guard on lime-shaded

afternoons or windy eight-o-clocks. It was ugly,

but it was patient with it's own ugliness. Nobody

can hang a name on it, it was never aflutter in borrowed grace. It just stood

there in it's corner, awkwardly looking at it's feet as the sky changed 

colours and it's dark leaves gratefully blended into

a relatively non-judgmental canvas. It just stood there.

It stood there when the sun stole across Mrs Mukherjee's khadi curtains to

make love to her Bonshai Oranges, 

It stood there when Keya got home from her

Math tution, feeling a little worthless. It stood in

it's place as Jijo spread himself on the verandah counting

his precious Jenga Cards, and It

didn't move an inch when Pal Kaku journeyed out

of his beautiful home for one last time. It just stood there,

watching,

making sense, not making sense,

putting dust to love and love to wind and creating

infinite Quiet...

Going back to the unbecoming haphazardness of it's

existence, they were right,

it was ugly. Thankfully,

they have cut it quite down.