Spending most time in the patio
reading, and watching the traffic
I badly miss the place
when I am in my second home
where burglary is rampant.
Windows are locked
doors are bolted
I am like the one in prison
seeing the outer world
through the glasses.
My gardener of long time
warns me to lock the door
waits outside the gate,
cycles once the auto gate closes
So does my milkman who
hoots at 9 in the morning
fills the vessel with milk
stays till I get back
into the interiors.
My neighbour, a Chinese,
ever watchful rushes to the gate
once he says a stranger near
my home. My husband calls me
to find out whether I am safe.
I pass my days longing
to return to my original home,
where I am free with the sun
wind and rain cross checking me.
Meenas Poems 