Burning hotter, hottest
Enough to drive one insane.
Narrow Calcutta lane,
Near a busy Calcutta street,
Cluttered with shops of meat.
Flanked by weathered homes
A sea of faces—blank, empty
Surrounds me, as alone
I get out of the metro.
Being able to cope
No longer a big feat
Purely a matter of habit
Just a matter of hope.
Walking down a street
In the heart of the city
Wrapped in its own sterility
I am glad I have you with me.
No comments:
Post a Comment