The printer Shrieks—
In NGMA lies a pot of luck, choking at the floor of the fountain.
A woman observes her nails. The background – the receipt printing machine Sings and Shrieks a mechanical tune. The bottom of my throat itches. Feet Squeak on the freshly swabbed floors.
The constable chairs Sigh—
Sheets of water rain, walls of water collect, a fizzle of water seeps and up they go again — kissing the leaves.
Wheelchairs Whine behind the khaki of the constable chairs. The machine Beeps; I enter, they glance.
The lady Wails—
Large lifes in miniature frames. With their backs to wood, well wishing animals recline beside well fed mistresses. Ranjit Singh with one eye closed, holding gently — a sword. A pale lonely lady stares with nostalgia eyes.
The sparrow Squawks—
The buffalos wade, the sparrow sits alone — one chirp, two chirp, three chirps. The water ripples under its shrill cry. Underneath, a woman with a pot, undressed —glares at the monsoon sun.
The wave Crashes —
A pale lonely lady stares with nostalgia eyes —the terrible sky. The oceans are held captive by boats — they stray and bob. The water turns concave, pulled at by a giant octopus with 8 limbs and 3 hearts. The boats crash, disappear in pieces of wood and froth.
The clock Ticks —
A woman points to her wrist watch assuring us we’re out of time. Emerald floors glisten, they have proud reflections.
Guards with impatient feet and hats look under. Beneath the exhibit — maybe some meaning. A vase leans to the left. The hand of the clock hesitates for a second.
I Cough —
Museums are Quiet.