A Song 100

At the window,
mangroves
in sun-taped fog,
tagged an old man
welled in an arm-chair
with a walking stick;
stepped out of the window,
over hills,
with scribbles in jibba pockets
for Kabir, Tuka and Kolatkar
approvals;
mid-walk,
winds snapped,
to windlands
scribbles flew,
old man pushed out of
geography, history ....
a loafer beyond skies
having tea with.....
someone, something .....
none knows.