Blue whale in the rain speaks of no trains.

By the sea
it rains
pours

endlessly.

buckets and katoris and spoons
of flailing cats and dogs
caught mid-flight, gasping
between the high and the fall.

a word-dismissive script
of piece-meal stories and haphazard,wide-eyed people
sits on my lap.

By the sea, the rain shivels into thread-bare ropes, and starts to sprinkle the city with images of what is now yesterday.

Batallions rise in the evenings
heaving over the water in blackening smoke-fish patterns.

and the nights grow longer,
and the rain plays havoc with trains,
and the pages get dog-eared with forgetfullness,
and rabbitty looking blue whale thumbs get lost in different spaces,
and an unexpected music greets the dawn,
and a new day that dissolves into the next and the next and the next one again,
and the weekend sprouts 2 extra limbs with a sudden,'hello'.

..When I go to Bombay and come all the way back.

Listen to 'Down by the sea', Morcheeba.