Silent Streets Poem by Shruti Das

The streets are silent
the raucous feet of hurrying people
lay in wait.
Yes, April was the cruelest month.
Thunderstorms did not spare
the silence of even their deserted bends.

The salt from my eyes
bore dents into the soft heart of the silent streets.
I tried not to hurt them
with the heaviness of my heart
and my loaded feet.

Chattering youngsters;
Clandestine lovers;
Boisterous victors;
Sly politicians;
Angry citizens
had all paid their homage.

But ...

Year after year they lay in wait
for the kinds of me
walking, trotting, running
to catch up with lost yesterdays,
uncertain tomorrows
and elusive todays.

They lay in wait in the scorching summer,
the dripping monsoons
and in the freezing winter
for the kinds of me
who would step on their breast
looking for Mermen in mirages;
for poetry in garbage bins;
and a rainbow in wicked traffic lights.

They lay in wait.
In starshine -
for the kinds of me
to drop their calculated guards
and shout obscenities into a welcome darkness.
In moonlight -
for the kinds of me
to hide in shadows
uncovering the buried truths
of some forgotten skeletons.