Four walls and a view

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This would have been my monsoon hideout

if only everyone else were not hiding here too.

Watermarks on damp walls

rain art - shadowy hills, gaping gorges

will soon make way for mold and fungus.

It was three months ago that they dismantled

the scaffolding, declaring

that there would be no seepage.

But the rain knows its way around.

So I watch the rain slant

and the waves in the shimmering sea

and the secretive shroud of a sky.

There’s nothing else to do

as the WiFi has gone lifeless.

So I watch the plants,

succulents and creepers filling out

broken teacups and decoupaged jars,

grow and exhale oxygen

in an inconspicuous corner

surrounding a painted wine bottle.

A lizard joins the frame

head down in a faux yogic pose.

Outside the rain has begun to fall

once again on the jutting tin shade -

big drops, sputtering

like a dying engine.

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Geetha Ravichandran lives in Chennai. Writing is her first love. The pandemic revived her interest in poetry. Over the last year her poems have been published in several online journals including Borderless, The Literary Nest and Madras Courier. One of her poems has been included in the Yearbook of Indian Poetry 2020-21, published by Hawakal.

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