The city has a stark look of concrete calm
as if struck by an epidemic.
In the middle of the road
unrustled leaves walk, like yet to be victims.
We head towards a restaurant
beyond that red-green-red blinking sign.
It is a setting out of the folk movies.
Caves and roots of trees hang around you.
Waiters, whose noses cast
a weird shadow on their faces
give an eerie look, unlisted in the menu.
We order starters and sit back to talk
while we hear faint wailing
amidst a constant thud of butchering.
We are shaken off our seats to our soups
and gobble as much as we can at that temperature.
We don't want starters here.
We cancel that order.
"Main course menu is different", the waiter says
as he carries a finger bowl, filled with
a red liquid soap to the next table.
He is smiling to himself.
Some one among us starts off the conversation
about our further choices, as we wait for the menu
tapping our fingers and listening
to each and every sound.