Rites of Life

A wise middle-aged woman wandered into my thoughts;
Her face was stern.
For a moment it seemed she was made of stone,
The woman with the stern face.
She nodded her head in a disapproving manner,
And clicked her tongue making lizard sounds.
Her specs put things in perspective for her,
As she walked around me in utter disbelief.
A voice called from outside and I ran out;
Faces, strange faces, looking at me from each corner.
Someone pinched me and I saw a little girl
Smiling up at me.
A swing, not swinging, dangled from a mango tree;
A crow devouring its sweet produce.
Something brushed my arm,
A man's arm with a scratching watch.
His eyes told me to walk along
An orchard full of guavas.
His heavy footsteps followed mine
Until we reached the orchard's end.
Eerie silence as if in a cemetery
Crushed every other sound
While we stood staring at the guavas.
Suddenly, I was alone
With a cawing crow
Accompanying the faint noise of my breathing.