A keen kingfisher hops onto the new line
From the old one a greyshade down,
Lingering there-
until an obvious realisation reaches his blue elfin head-
That the canal wasn't his.
It was the municipality's, the corporation's
Which held the water from early May till late June.
Konam* was balding,
Ockhi was like the hair oil on teleshopping whose effect was polar to that which was advertised
The depression of the storm is deep, still.
A lone mountain stands distinct from his peers,
Having clouds for his shoulder ( probably for breakfast too)
And green rashes from hips to toes.
The clouds above his head are peculiarly placid
They move, slightly, not wander,
Making the sky look more pond than sea.
Maybe it too, has a corporation, that they don't speak of,
And if so, at June's tail there will be a feast for the king and admirers for the daffodils.
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~Ajay
16/5/18
*Konam- maravoorkonam, the name of the village
