Where are you now,
Ajanta? Your
Father calls, his

Voice coming from
His room along
The hall. By the

Window, you say.
Ajanta, what
Are you doing

There? Looking at
The sun; feeling
The sun’s warmth on

My hands and face.
The sun is not
Good for you, your

Father replies;
It will dry your
Skin and harm your

Eyes. Remember
What it did to
Your grandmother.

You stifle a
Giggle with your
Hand and watch the

Boy from along
The street passes by
On nimble feet.

His hair is well
Combed and he is
Well groomed. You are

Much too silent,
Ajanta, when
Children are too

Silent, mischief
Lingers, Father
Says, his shrill voice

Carrying down
The hall like some
Unseen spirit,

The tone harsher,
And the meaning
Firmer. I am

Looking at the
Sky; the birds are
Flying high, you

Say, watching the
Boy’s ******
Motion and you

Wonder if he
Will turn and look
Up at you. Have

You no work to
Be doing, child?
Does your mother

Not require
Your help about
The house? You lift

Your eyes skyward,
Sigh out softly,
The boy turns and

You wave and he
Smiles and waves back.
He has diamonds

In his dark eye’s
Brightness; he has
A tiger’s strength

In his strong stride.
Adjanta are
You there? Father

Calls out, his tone
Tougher, tighter
Than a tiger’s

Grip. Just coming,
I can smell the
Summer and the

Scent of flowers,
You reply. The
Boy has gone and

Taken off with
Your dream. Come here,
Adjanta, your

Father calls, where
Is the pen I
Lent you? Where are

My books? You turn
From the window
With a deeper

Sigh, ****** at the
Sky’s blue and bird’s
Flight and the hot

Image of the
**** boy for
Your dreams tonight.