Four Streams Poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph

The evening Sun is sinking,
Down as half-round in orange;
I can see the silhouette
Of distant buildings etched
Against the Sun
Through the black iron grille,
Between Jasmine and hospice
Named after Dr Ernest Borges,
Where death is not news,
It happens so frequently.
Cancer is not as kind as
Terrorist who kills instantly.

The glass-panes’ gap open
Lets in the strong, pleasant breeze
Aware on my chest, hairs on
On my forelegs, I look toward
The Guru Nanak hospital
And the Nursing Training school
In front – they are the landmarks
To our house, sort of address.
Below on the floor, Zorro the cat
And Minnie his girl-friend asleep
With more right than us
The human inhabitants!

It is her bedroom where I am
Enjoying the breeze, my wife
Is chatting on telephone
With her brother Babu in Chennai
About some cousins In Bangalore, saying
She is not interested in fulfilling formalities
Like going all the way from Mumbai to there
To attend wedding of who hasn’t bothered
To keep in touch with us all these years.

In all the three T V screens
At home, same report
On terrorists at the Taj,
Trident earlier called Oberoi,
Or Nariman house of Jews
In Colaba; they have killed
101 persons and injured 287,
Side by side, inset, showing
The funeral of Hemant Karkare IPS
Chief of ATS, shot in the head
Last night: he owns the flat
Below mine, a soft and nice
Man he was – a decent police guy.
Raj Thackeray, Chief of MNS
Not to be left behind is seen
In the procession now.

Life goes on;
The wheel is down
But on its way up.
What else is there to say?