He (A form poem)

/wrote it for a friend's birthday/

He stood by the courtyard of his storied house surrounded by the canopy of trees

He looked around awaiting and watched the hawkers carry their baskets of greens

Their tanned torso was their kameez and kutcha roads were now a sole of their shoes

from the pit of their empty stomachs, they yodeled, sang, screamed to sell their produce.

He dipped his finger to check its warmth of the milk bowl that he had placed on the ground

His eyes moved from one corner to the other – from the bakery wallahs to the huge bins, round

Yikes, he hated when the milk turned cold and the broken stems and leaves garnished it

Still there was no sight of his mate; his legs grew tired and sweaty with no place to sit,

Finally, like a beacon of hope, his friend came running towards him

His green eyes shone brighter in the sun though its brown-and-white coat

Was greasy and shoddy; an endearing charm, like a jersey, he did sport

His frown vanished into the cold air and his smile replaced his contour grim

He fed his friend, the milk that he stole from the container in the kitchen

His naïve eyes gleamed see the bowl slurped by the cat, that was once a kitten