Do you find that it tugs you just there?
The cavity below the ribs, a throbbing hole
Every evening as dusk falls and then, a few minutes after,
The azaan goes up.
Plaintive, my neighbourhood muezzin!
His voice soars and dips, and I soar and fall in sympathy.
A grief grips me sometimes, a sadness, a trembling –
Call it existential angst.
A few brief minutes and he trails away,
And I return, blindly, to my computer screen.
3 comments:
Lovely Setal!
You know, it was just the other day I was remarking to someone, how i miss the familiar sounds of India. The first thing that came to my head, was the Azaan. I didn't realize how much i miss it until I heard it in the background of a video I was watching.
Thanks ra. yeah, we don't know what goes into the feel of a place, right? sounds, smells, how the light falls... we can't deconstruct it.
Wah!
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