non-alcoholic nights

as my mother sleeps beside him my father furrows his brows thinks of the snake in his spine pigeons in the park hunger Paris terrorists in Kashmir lizard on the wall spelling the illusion she is holding the wall whisky his father’s catheter his liver my hunchback crow’s feet around his eyes boiling milk temples lepers he considers making chai lurks by the stove chooses against turns on the TV listens to a Mohammed Rafi song turns off the TV saunters to the balcony observes the night undressing into dawn blue as Shiva’s throat catches a butterfly resting on the money plant tears it in half thinking the flies under the streetlamps are better off than him looking down on the tarmac wonders what if he has cancer returns to his room turns on the TV listens to the same song turns off the TV reaches his back to scratch an itch counts the people who owe him money the money they owe him drums the name of Rama on his fingertips with his thumb envies the sleep surrounding him yet out of reach unconquered as the sun glares at my mother the melody of her snores alters as she turns to the other side from one dream to another