Ajith Nair

Curled up within In an unseasonal cold At the bus stop A petty mongrel old He sees winter clothes People wrapped snug Adjusting their shawls And ear plug Crowds never die At the tea stall And there’s only few Hearing the kulfi call No one ventures to kick him Or pelt stones Life is peaceful So what if there are no bones In a city of cold stares And crowds of strangers There’s someone loving the cold It’s the petty mongrel old