Nine years without bed tea

It's been nine
One gets less during this period
It's eight they say
No one cares
Empty green beer bottles below the kitchen sink
Dust on the books
Dirty linen everywhere
Cigarette butts on tea cups
Some wet some dry
The smell of which is nostalgic
Ah! Biri Phukan
DVDs and CDs, old cassettes
A black radio with dead batteries
The owner, too, without them
The desert-cooler tries its best to beat the heat
Buckets of waters it drinks every six hours
Sky Blue in colour with a rusty fan
A motor which never stopped
Designed for the Sultan of Delhi
Still serving the neo-sultans
It is witness to many fights and love scenes
From a twelve by eight
To a three bedroom
It has served all and served well
Its fate still designed to continue
With the fate of the beer drinkers
And meat eaters...
When relationships and friendships look like illusions
And the virtual becomes reality
Reality still screams
The moment you close your eyes
This was not me
This is not me
Nine lives and the cat smiles...