shuttlecock players

the game begins.. 

the game ends ..

in between 

in the little flights of the shuttle c**k 

is measured the lifetime 

of an indian colony..

the buses have started their first office trips ;

the cars of aspiring elites

 have come out 

on the porch 

in proud  anticipation..

but 

they cant stop it halfway..

a freedom beckons ..

wrapped in nylon feathers,

it plays a hide and seek

with every attempted shot 

and misplaced drop in the net's recess..

they weave their myths every morning

about their little mistakes;

angry partners devise theories 

as their children put on spotless uniforms 

and dirty socks

and wives wait with  hasty dishes ...

but they cant go yet .

behind every brain seethes 

an indignation half - quenched,

a point half finished

 from a forgotten game ..

yesterday, 

day before yesterday, 

before that..

the doctor rubs his shiny forehead,

he becomes a doctor when he loses badly..

a serpentine stethoscope already dangles

in a half -wit imagination.. 

doesnt touch him 

or his profession,

a loss in the game ..

the accountant and the petty clerk 

suppress smiles

the doctor always loses to them , 

no matter how new his car is.. 

or what cuisines underlie his recent corpulence..

but not yet...

long after they have left ,

as they strenuously tire in

 their dingy little offices,

and smoke filter cigarettes in 

exquisite middle class cafes

and  eat their cold lunch

from rusty lunch boxes,

, in darkening anticipation,lurk 

behind the scaffolds of their little brains 

the "love- all" cry of THE NEXT GAME  ..