Sunday Afternoon

In the silence of the afternoon

a squirrel screeched from the bushes

neither signaling its mate nor scared of prey

went silent later, as if it ended either way.

Rolling of the brass cuboid dice

the metal sounds from another side

slide me down the memory lane, like fall colors

memories of a cheerful period fall back.

A flock of birds in the background babble

indicates the return of the yellow-billed babblers

the crazy noisy guys, who always hangout to ground

kept me from joining, as I lifted to the first floor.

A sound of the saw at a distance

came distracting me as rooster began its crow

the day reached its edge and a sip of tea

lighter the evening, as the sun, drops its glow.