Balcony Diaries

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I stand at my balcony
Gazing at the street
The pebbles here and there
Appear like pock marks on sheet
I chuckle when I catch
A kid writing his name
Through the dust
On my uncle's car.
My quidnunc neighbour eyes at him
And the kid slips like sand
Between fingers
Out of my street.
I see children running after each other
Not to win nor to defeat
But just to run
And I wish, I could be like one.
I remember some of the greatest fairytales in their plot
Have balconies a as poignant spot
Be it the Rupanzel craving for the world
Stranded in the tower cum cage
Or the Juliet waiting for someone
Singing and reminiscing.
I have got no fantasing story
For my balcony walls to cherish.
As in real life stories
People jump off their balconies
In search of a better world.
The wind flushes through my face
Making my hair strands
Dance in a non-rhythmic pace
I try to tuck them behind my ears
Just like many of my dreams
Which are now turning blurry,
Every single day
Due to the waxed paper I thrust on them
Every single day.
I hide my pieces in pieces of paper
And at the end of the day
I crush them, tear them
And leave them on the floor
Just like the fallen leaves
On the sidewalk of my street.
Both are swept away
By the sweeper
The next day.

-Chanchal Bagla

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