Ennui

The clock has stopped.
But then, it had broken
a somnolent decade ago.
Time has stopped—
it was supposed
to continue unimpeded:
ad infinitum, ad nauseam.

The cat does not stir
on the thornless hedge—
It’s frozen midway
through an unfinished yawn
of shattered semi-expectation:
its blackness scares wheeling
birds in their already hesitant flight.

The half-melted sun
is stationary in the gelid rain—
rain that turned to sleet last summer…
The gutters are still
overflowing since the fetid,
burning rains this monsoon—
the last rains ever…