CASUAL
LEAVE
Skylight
was never enough
to
call off the bluff.
Clutchless
gears grit their teeth
to
match their wretched routine moves
giving
no time to breathe.
Sword
remains within the sheath.
Joy
ride of puppets in toy-
trains.
Tiny tempered jets
try
irrigate a dry field.
Suddenly
by asking why,
a
Monday smothers in his bed
with
a crumpled bedspread.
Train
whistles and the lazy air
carries
sound waves to a vacant chair.
Obverse
of a slave
is
the dare-devilry of a day
that
decides to be brave.
Tiffin-box
now empty
watches
him sipping tea
with
the care-free stare
of a
born millionaire.
Sunday-rest
is ordinary fare,
The
real test a truly rare
rebellious
note that lights the fire.
Hum-drum
with a broken back
waits
at the desk just holding the sack.
The
fussy forehead of Mr. Brown
held
folds of puckered frown,
when
next day’s post arrived too late
praying
for casual leave beneath debate.
–R. RABINDRANATH MENON