We are waiting for a word to happen.
We wait for the life to tick in monitor
And wait for the glow- worms to slide
And talk to the mower of the grasses.
We are waiting for godot to our mind.
We are awaiting in our old newspaper
For monitor to push up a light curve,
Some glowworms to rise as one light.
All this time we wait and we are silly
While no comets light up night skies
And princes shall have no funerals,
Only farmers who have lost cottons.
We are mixed up in minds displaced.
There is no Juliana to our old minds.
It is the waiting that displaces minds
Between life and cinema and poems.
(The poem is Andrew Marvel’s “Mower to the glow-worms” and the movie is “Waiting “, a recent Hindi movie about a bond that grows between an old man waiting for his wife to come out of coma and a young woman who is waiting for her comatose husband to recover from brain injury sustained in a road accident)