the voice is not heard
the essential tone is
the tenor
the restless tenor
like a signal i crossed just before it turned red
or the jhumka bail that hung too low
walkers trampled it without
looking
i have no reason left
like the odd crumpled, dried roti
from last night
the last sip of chai
you left in a hurry today
the beds are made
unmade
day after day
the children are fed
tucked in
night after night
after night
the tenor remains
empty
a humming of sorts
parched now
what
once was
drenched by us