The Lizard Poem by Sibghatullah Khan

When we entered that house five years back,
It was a 'clean, well-lighted place':
white enameled walls, a cozy fireplace, and a kitchen
fitted out with a range, gas stove, and white wooden cabinets.
It seemed as if there were spaces for happiness to stay.
It was a good change.

Then I spotted, after some years, one late afternoon,
This lizard, with its brown, slimy, Chordata shape,
slowly and ominously pace across the kitchen wall.
I thought that it was only a reptile but since that day
Its fixed gaze and hours-long inertia was like bad luck come to stay.
I was just afraid.

Then I thought that, living in these times,
We should use brains and not have jitters over these things.
But something there was that did not let it be:
when we would bicker, my wife and I,
I would always see this creeping creature carry
Its brown bulging belly and breathe out antonyms of love.
I was really afraid.

Our indecisions would come from those dim yellowish trails on the wall,
and breakthroughs would make faces at us all.
Crows would go cawing all day long on the tree fronting the house.
There were cracks in fortune and seepage in the walls.
The sunlight would go shying away from our eye-balls,
and it was always dark before time, and even summer nights
had put on black winter shawls.

Shifting thrilled us all:
it was like getting the better of that lot lizard
preying upon people's lives and smiles. We turned over
that screwed up page, packed our lives in neat cartons, and left our rage
to stay back in the house for revenge.
But when we left, we were surprised to see
a lizling skittering on dark yellow trails like mad:
the house was to let again.