From My Window

The sound of breaking concrete, 

splitting solid mortar  

that made up Mili didi’s house 
––our oldest neighbour, 

beating away the ancestral 

(tinroof)
the blunt-steady sound of a hammer;  

futile in a sense,  

but relentless– 
 

Finally, the first crack. 

everything about breaking a house  

is easier after that. 

They’ll break this entire house  

in three days 
Five at max.  

They’re unhinging the windows now. 
In the broken house only the frames  

Of windows stand stood

Windows mingled with other gaping holes, 

broken down— 
to see a window, not a window 
lost within other frames of broken mortar 

Sometimes, two hammers pounding without rhythm, 
sometimes, the rhythm puts you to sleep 

at the same time the house across the street  

is building something new
(a diagnostic medical centre)
 

The sound of hammer again. 

mainly, sandpaper chafing,  

final touches of polish 

The sound of hammer here is different, 
the shallow sound of a nail into a wooden plank,

Tap tap tap, 

The hammer finally wants to sing a lullaby.

The grey silence of cement is
closing every passage for air, 
carefully brick by brick, 

leaving out
a small squarish place to let in light 

 
She said, we ached for the empty space  

which was slowly becoming solid, 
only a little window is all that’s left.