Somewhere deep in the wilderness,
 there is a chair, bruised, battered and abandoned.
Not needing much, just a thick layer of paint,
splashed with a soft healing touch.

Around her the crazy world roars and clashes
with malicious gaiety. But resiliently she stands,
 unfazed, having taken roots there.

A woodpecker pecks the tree against which she leans.
A jungle hare scuttles towards the bushes.
The woodpecker is alarmed, but soon resumes
 its noisy wood-pecking, taking the scuttling in its stride.

When the restive world gropes in the dark,
hoping for sleep, it is towards this chair that I head.
Every night, I find myself walking towards it,
 in a somnambulistic trance.
Sighing, I take off my frayed sneakers, ears riveted
 to the pecking of the woodpecker.

Pulling my floppy hat over my eyes, I slowly
drift- drift-drift into a quiet, far-off place
 without the vindictive virus.
How much wood would a woodchuck chuck
If a woodchuck could chuck wood?
I know, I know, a woodchuck is not a woodpecker.
It is a groundhog, a sort of rodent
but still this long- lost tongue twister comes to mind,
[So do many long- lost things] I smile.
Aren’t we all rodents, big and small, playing musical chairs?

I open my eyes and remove sleep kinks.
The monkeys of the mind again go chit- chit –chit.

I glimpse a poster hung askew from one of the trees.
Sonu Monkey Catcher- at cheap rates.
Below it is Sonu’s mobile number.

Monkey catching is a business for some.
Just the other day, I was part of a group
discussing the menace of monkeys.

Oh no! Where is the chair?
Alas, there is no chair – only the monkeys of the mind going
Chitter- chatter –chitter- chatter …
No monkey- catcher can catch them. Not even Sonu

That magical chair comes only in the dark.
It is then that the stars shine.